THE 


USTIN  HUNTLY  HSCARTltY 


LADY      BENEDETTA     AND     THE     O'FLYNN 


THE  O'FLYNN 


BY 

JUSTIN  HUNTLY  McCARTHY 

AUTHOR   OF 

"THE  GORGEOUS  BORGIA"  "SERAPHICA" 
""IF    I    WERE   KING"    ETC. 


NEW   YORK   AND   LONDON 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
M  C  MX 


NOVELS  BY 
JUSTIN  HUNTLY  McCARTHY 


THE  O'FLYNN 

THE  GOD  OP  LOVE 

THE  GORGEOUS  BORGIA.   .     .     . 

SERAPHICA       

THE  DUKE'S  MOTTO 

IP  I  WERE  KING.  Illustrated  . 
MARJORIE.  Illustrated.  .  .  . 

THE  DRYAD 

THE  LADY  OP  LOYALTY  HOUSE. 

THE  PROUD  PRINCB 

THE  FLOWER  OP  FRANCE.  .  . 
THE  ILLUSTRIOUS  O'HAGAN  .  . 
NEEDLES  AND  PINS.  Illustrated 


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HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS,  N.  Y. 


Copyright,  1910,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS 

All  rights  reserved 


Published   May,  1910 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  A* 


TO 

SIR     HERBERT     BEERBOHM     TREE 
IN   MEMORY  OF  A  PLEASANT  JEST 


2058004 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


I.  COMING  HOME i 

II.  IN  MY  LORD'S  CLOSET 10 

III.  ALL  ON  THE  IRISH  SHORE 22 

IV.  How    ROGER    HENDRIGG    BECAME    SOME 

ONE  ELSE 29 

V.  AN  ADVENTURE  ON  THE  ROAD    ....  39 

VI.  CASTLE  FAMINE 47 

VII.  THE  KING  OF  THE  CASTLE 57 

VIII.  THE  PRETTY  LADY 66 

IX.  THE  LOVE-MAKER 79 

X.  THE  COMING  OF  THE  PLAYERS    ....  89 
XL  THE  RHYME  OF  THE  PLAYERS     .     .     .     .  101 

XII.  THE  HIDDEN  TREASURE 116 

XIII.  KNOCKMORE 128 

XIV.  "THE  ISLE  OF  CYPRUS" 138 

XV.  MY  LORD  SEES  FANCY  FREE       ....  154 

XVI.  NEW  PLUMAGE 165 

XVII.  BENEDETTA  DESCENDS  THE  STAIRS       .     .  176 

XVIII.  FANCY  FREE  PROPOSES 185 

XIX.  HOT  PUNCH  AND  COLD  STEEL     ....  190 

XX.  O'FLYNN'S  OWN 200 

XXL      RING  A  RING  OF  ROSES 210 

XXII.  MY    LORD    SEDGEMOUTH    RECEIVES  VIS- 
ITORS       224 


CONTENTS 

XXIII.  "!F  EVER  You  CAN  Do  HIM  A  SERVICE  "  232 

XXIV.  FANCY  FREE  EXPLAINS 246 

XXV.  LUITPRAND    VAN    DRONK    RECEIVES    A 

VISIT 249 

XXVI.  THE  FALL  OF  KNOCKMORE 259 

XXVII.  IN  THE  PRESENCE  CHAMBER     .     „    .    .  269 

XXVIII.  A  LETTER  FROM  O'ROURKE      ....  283 

XXIX.  AN  IRISH  REEL 290 

XXX.  O'FLYNN  THE  FIRST 295 

XXXI.  CASTLE  FAMINE  AGAIN 302 


THE    O'FLYNN 


THE   O'FLYNN 


COMING    HOME 

A  MAN  leaned  on  the  bulwark  of  a  ship  and  stared 
across  a  squabble  of  waves  at  a  coast  rising  from  the 
horizon.  The  water  about  the  bows  was  a  troubled  green, 
for  the  sea  still  churned  from  the  late  bad  weather.  The 
land  that  he  could  now  see  distinctly  without  aid  of  spy- 
glass was  green  too,  with  a  warmer,  kinder  color  than  the 
hue  of  the  querulous  ocean.  The  man  at  gaze  was  in- 
different to  the  bickering  of  the  billows;  his  sturdy  stomach 
had  defied  them  when  they  were  leaping  their  loftiest  in 
the  past  days  of  angry  weather  and  it  now  disdained  their 
faded  brawlings.  The  sea  might  wear  what  color  it 
pleased  for  him;  it  was  the  color  of  that  distant  coast 
which  concerned  him,  thrilled  him,  almost  troubled  him 
out  of  his  soldierly  serenity.  Though  no  mist  of  tears 
dimmed  the  lightness  and  brightness  of  his  wide  blue  eyes 
he  knew  himself — and  was  not  in  the  least  ashamed  of  the 
knowledge — that  a  very  deluge  of  moisture  would  drench 
his  cheeks  if  he  allowed  the  Moses  of  his  imagination  to 
strike  the  rock  of  his  fortitude. 


THE   O'FLYNN 

« 

He  had  often  thought  of  that  home-coming,  had  thought 
of  it  by  camp-fires  and  in  trenches,  in  squalid  inn  garrets 
and  dreary  barracks,  on  damnable  marches  and  wind- 
bitten  bivouacs,  in  the  houses  of  princes  and  the  hovels 
of  peasants,  in  theatres  and  inns  and  churches,  in  brothels 
and  canteens.  He  had  seen  it  in  the  gallery  of  his  imagi- 
nation by  many  lights  according  to  his  moment's  mood  and 
his  moment's  surroundings.  Here  was  the  way  he  had 
liked  best  to  picture  it.  He  saw  himself  coming  back  bulg- 
ing with  booty,  his  fingers  glittering  with  jewels,  his  waist- 
coat pockets  ticking  with  watches  and  plump  snuff-boxes, 
his  breeches  pockets  overflowing  with  gold  pieces,  his 
bosom  stuffed  with  letters  of  credit  drawn  on  every  bank 
in  Dublin,  to  make  a  brave  show  I.,  his  native  land.  He 
remembered  these  dreams  now  as  he  looked  down  with  a 
smile  and  a  sigh  at  the  dingy  white  coat,  ragged,  patched, 
and  stained  with  travel  that  was  flapping  about  his  thighs 
in  the  sea-wind,  at  the  boots  that  would  have  been  the 
better  for  a  cobbler's  helpfulness,  at  the  less  than  dubious 
linen  visible  at  his  wrists,  and  at  the  tarnished  lace  of  the 
shabby  hat  he  held  in  his  hand  to  let  the  sea-wind  cool  him. 

The  dingy  white  coat — plus  the  boots  and  the  hat  and 
the  rest — was  the  uniform  of  a  captain  of  Austrian  dragoons, 
of  a  regiment  of  dragoons  that  might  indeed  be  described 
as  in  the  highest  degree  irregular  and  that  had  ceased  to 
exist  almost  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come  into  existence. 
It  had  been  a  regiment  of  merry  devils  while  it  had  en- 
dured, a  levy  of  desperate  adventurers  recruited  from  every 
country  in  Europe.  They  were  gallant  gallow-birds,  all, 
that  agreed  in  little  else,  maybe,  but  at  least  agreed  in  this 
that^it  was  well  to  pay  heed  to  the  orders  of  the  Irishman 
who  had  rallied  them  and  who  had  so  prompt  an  eye 


COMING   HOME 

for  mutiny  and  so  prompt  a  pistol  for  a  mutineer.  The 
Turks  had  known  them  and  hated  them  and  killed  them 
whenever  they  could,  but  the  score  at  the  end  was  at  least 
ten  Turks  to  each  Christian — let  them  be  called  Christians 
in  Heaven's  name — ere  the  last  battle  before  Belgrade  re- 
duced the  regiment  to  an  insufficient  rating  of  some  six- 
teen men  and  a  captain  with  three  bullets  in  and  two  sword- 
cuts  on  his  body. 

The  traveller  smiled  at  such  memories  as  he  regarded 
his  ruined  uniform.  It  was  at  least  a  proof  relative  of 
past  valor;  a  proof  positive  of  present  penury.  Perhaps 
it  did  not  matter  much  after  all.  He  was  coming  back  to 
his  own  again,  to  what  promised  at  least  to  mean  affluence 
to  a  battered  soldier  of  fortune.  He  would  be  master  of 
the  old  castle  that  had  cradled  his  boyhood,  that  had 
cradled  his  race;  he  would  be  the  O'Flynn,  the  latest  of 
so  many  O'Flynns  able  to  support  that  dignity  with  some- 
thing like  splendor  in  the  eyes  of  an  adoring  peasantry. 
He  could  buy  himself  a  new  coat,  new  hat,  and  new 
boots  soon  enough;  the  rest  of  the  magnificence  should 
follow  rapidly.  Such  were  the  thoughts  that  had  tickled 
him  since  he  got  the  letter  from  O'Rourk^  the  letter  ad- 
dressed to  his  old  quarters  in  Paris;  the  letter  that  found 
him  in  Vienna  recovered  from  his  wound,  and  already 
beating  up  for  a  new  following;  the  letter  that  told  him 
that  his  father  was  no  more,  and  that  he  had  the  right 
to  style  himself  the  O'Flynn. 

Such  had  been  his  journeying  thoughts.  But  now — as 
the  ship  pitched  in  the  wallowing  seas  and  the  sails  were 
strained  with  the  soldier's  wind  that  whistled  her  to  Erin, 
as  the  green  hills  came  nearer  and  nearer  under  that  sky 
of  broken  sunlight — he  found  that  he  was  thinking  very 
3 


THE   O'FLYNN 

little,  indeed,  of  his  home-coming,  or  of  his  ancestral  castle, 
or  his  ancient  title,  or  of  the  country  that  he  had  not  seen 
for  more  than  twenty  years.  His  thought  kept  harking 
back  to  one  subject  and  one  object  alone,  and  that  object 
was  no  other  than  his  fellow-passenger,  the  dainty,  daring 
girl  who  came  on  board  the  Roi-Soleil  at  Brest,  who  had 
the  captain's  cabin  as  betokened  a  traveller  of  impor- 
tance, and  who  had  kept  her  room  for  the  better  part  of 
that  squally  voyage,  small  blame  to  her. 

He  had  only  seen  her  twice :  first,  on  the  day  when  she 
came  aboard,  which  she  did  with  a  mixture  of  state  and 
secrecy  which  amused  him  that  was,  happily,  easily 
amused;  and  secondly,  in  an  hour  of  calm,  when  she 
climbed  to  the  deck  and  stood  for  a  while  against  the 
rail  drinking  in  the  sweet  cleanness  of  the  sea  air.  Then 
he  had  made  bold  to  speak  to  her  as  one  passenger  may 
speak  to  another  passenger,  especially  if  one  passenger 
happen  to  be  an  Irish  soldier  of  fortune  and  the  other 
a  pretty  girl,  and  had  found  her  courteous  and  frank  and 
kindly9  though  she  quitted  him  almost  instantly  after  he 
addressed  her.  Now  he  saw  her  for  the  third  time,  for 
she  had  come  on  deck  since  his  ascent,  and  was  standing 
but  a  little  way  from  him,  looking,  as  he  looked,  at  the 
nearing  green  hills  over  the  pitching  waters  that  still 
whispered  of  last  night's  storm.  There  was  a  bright 
color  on  her  cheeks,  and  a  bright  color  on  her  lips,  and 
a  bright  color  in  her  eyes,  and  the  O'Flynn  was  quite 
convinced  that  he  had  never  in  all  his  life  seen  a  woman 
so  beautiful,  so  desirable,  so  adorable. 

He  was  ruefully  aware  that  he  cut  but  a  poor  figure 
in  his  dingy  Austrian  uniform,  its  white  coat  all  smudged 
and  smeared  and  worn  and  tattered.     But  the  O'Flynn 
4 


COMING    HOME 

was  never  a  man  to  be  abashed  by  such  unimportant 
trifles  as  a  shabby  suit,  and  he  turned  from  where  he 
stood  to  address  the  girl  with  as  jaunty  a  carriage  as  if 
he  bore  the  best  coat  in  Versailles  upon  his  back,  and 
were  moving  among  the  gallants  of  the  court  of  the  Sun- 
King.  The  girl  looked  at  him  with  a  smile  that  did  not 
deny  conversation,  and  while  she  smiled  the  O'Flynn  was 
enabled  to  get  a  steadier  look  at  her  than  the  chances  of 
their  travelling  companionship  had  yet  permitted.  She 
was  a  tall  lass  of  her  hands;  even  the  O'Flynn,  who  over- 
topped by  a  little  six  feet  of  humanity,  found  that  there 
was  no  need  for  him  to  stoop  in  order  to  look  in  other 
eyes.  She  carried  her  fine  height  courageously;  she  was 
exquisitely  slim  without  seeming  in  any  way  meagre;  her 
face  was  as  fair  and  as  brave  as  the  day,  and  the  hair 
that  crowned  it  and  framed  it  was  of  a  pale  gold.  As 
for  her  eyes,  they  were  of  that  blue  which  tinges  certain 
skies  over  certain  seas,  or  certain  seas  under  certain 
skies — at  least  that  is  what  the  O'Flynn  told  himself  their 
tender  hue  suggested;  and  as  far  as  he  was  concerned 
the  description  was  apt  and  satisfactory.  He  turned  the 
epithets  on  his  tongue  in  the  Gaelic  speech  that  was  native 
to  him:  even  as  he  had  neared  the  lady  his  nimble  wit 
had  twisted  a  couple  of  verses  in  her  beauty's  praise. 
But  he  kept  his  rhymes  to  himself,  being  a  wiser  man 
than  many  poets,  and  when  he  spoke  it  was  in  plain 
prose. 

"It's  the  dirty  weather  we've  been  having,"  he  as- 
serted, with  that  cheerful  acquiescence  in  a  cheerless  fact 
characteristic  of  a  race  sustained  against  adversity  by 
patience  and  by  hope. 

The  girl  nodded,  her  fair  hair  flowing  in  a  fine  dis- 
5 


THE   O'FLYNN 

order  before  the  audacity  of  the  sea-wind  that  stung  her 
cheeks  to  the  ruddiness  of  an  autumn  apple.  "I  am  no 
great  sailor,"  she  admitted,  "but  I  grew  weary  of  being 
cribbed  below,  and  the  sweet  air  renews  my  spirits." 

The  O'Flynn  admired  his  fellow-traveller  mightily. 
The  glimpses  he  had  got  of  her  since  she  came  aboard  had 
fired  his  fancy,  and,  now  standing  face  to  face  with  her, 
he  rejoiced  to  read  the  patent  of  a  beauty  greater  than 
such  fleeting  vision  had  permitted  him  to  appreciate.  But 
she  was  so  very  beautiful,  and  so  seeming  careless  of  her 
beauty,  that  for  the  moment  even  the  O'Flynn's  com- 
posure failed  and  his  loquacity  flagged. 

"  Vender's  Ireland,"  he  said,  resolved  to  say  some- 
thing, and  thinking  of  nothing  better  to  say.  As  he  spoke 
he  gave  a  jerk  of  his  shoulder  in  the  direction  of  the  near- 
ing  shore. 

The  girl's  eyes  brightened  at  his  words,  and  she  ex- 
tended her  hands  prettily  toward  the  horizon,  "Yon- 
der's  Ireland,"  she  echoed,  and  her  voice  was  full  of  joy. 

The  O'Flynn  eyed  her  meditatively,  *fls  it  your  first 
visit,  maybe  ?"  he  questioned. 

The  girl  vehemently  shook  her  head,  and  her  blown 
tresses  swayed  with  her  action.  "I  know  Ireland  well," 
she  replied.  "Ireland  is  very  dear  to  me;  dearer  than 
ever  now — ' '  She  paused  suddenly,  as  if  she  felt  con- 
scious that  for  some  reason  she  was  saying  too  much; 
but  she  smiled  very  pleasantly  upon  her  companion  in 
compensation  for  the  unfinished  sentence. 

The  O'Flynn  was  not  to  be  so  put  off,  however.  "Why 
is  the  dear  land  dearer  to  you  now  than  ever  ?"  he  ques- 
tioned, and  even  as  he  questioned  there  came  a  change 
over  the  girl. 

6 


COMING   HOME 

She  still  smiled,  but  her  smile  was  less  careless  than  it 
had  been;  her  manner  was  still  gracious,  but  her  manner 
was  more  alert;  she  looked  at  the  man  by  her  side  with 
wary  eyes,  "I  suppose  it's  because  I  am  seeing  it  again," 
she  answered,  quietly.  "The  places  we  are  fond  of, 
like  the  people  we  are  fond  of,  grow  dearer  to  us  after 
absence," 

O'Flynn  noticed  something  of  her  change  of  bearing 
without  understanding  it.  "And  is  it  long  since  you've 
been  away  from  the  old  land  ?"  he  asked,  and  even  with 
that  asking  the  girl's  carriage  grew  more  cautious  and 
her  smile  more  cold. 

"Perhaps  it  seems  longer  than  it  is,"  she  said,  thought- 
fully, and  drew  a  little  away  from  her  fellow-voyager. 

O'Flynn  did  not  notice  the  movement,  for  he  had 
turned  away  and  was  leaning  over  the  rail  staring  steadily 
at  the  distant  land.  "It's  twenty  years,"  he  said,  medi- 
tatively, "since  I  saw  Ireland  last — twenty  good  years 
and  more.  Sure,  I  wonder  what  it  will  be  like  after  all 
this  age  of  days.  Maybe  it's  not  knowing  the  old  place 
at  all  I'll  be  finding  myself."  He  laughed  loud  at  his 
conceit,  and  turned  on  his  elbows  to  see  if  his  companion 
shared  his  hilarity.  To  his  chagrin  he  discovered  that 
he  was  alone  upon  the  deck.  The  pretty  lady  had  taken 
advantage  of  his  momentary  mood  of  isolated  reflection 
to  vanish  from  his  side.  O'Flynn  swore  softly  to  himself 
with  much  intensity  of  phrase  and  a  Macaronic  variety 
of  idiom. 

"Now,  why  is  she  after  disappearing  like  that?"  he 

asked  himself,  sourly,  and  even  on  the  interrogation  a 

survey  of  his  appearance  seemed  to  supply  the  inevitable 

answer.     A  man  in  such  a  mean  coat,  in  such  ancient 

2  7 


THE   O'FLYNN 

boots,  a  man  that  carried  such  a  battered  hat  upon  his  un- 
kempt head  was  plainly  no  very  favorable  apparition  in 
the  sight  of  a  young  lady  of  quality  that  travelled  fine  and 
commanded  the  use  of  the  captain's  cabin.  The  O'Flynn's 
ready  smile  assumed  an  unfrequent  grimness  as  he  sur- 
veyed his  tatterdemalion  habiliments.  "I've  known  many 
great  ladies  and  many  fair  ladies  look  worse  clad  than 
this  in  a  taken  town,"  he  thought,  and  then  was  angry 
with  himself  for  so  thinking,  angry  at  the  thought  of  this 
fair  girl  of  the  ship  being  in  such  peril  and  shame  and  pain 
as  he  had  seen  women  brought  to  often  enough.  He 
gave  a  whisk  of  his  hand  across  his  forehead  as  if  to 
banish  disagreeable  images,  and  to  cheer  himself  whistled 
a  jigging  tune.  He  lingered  on  the  deck,  too,  in  the  hope 
that  the  fair  girl  might  appear  again.  But  he  waited  in 
vain.  For  whatever  reason,  she  seemed  to  have  had 
enough  of  the  open  air,  enough  of  his  society. 

O'Flynn  paced  the  deck;  O'Flynn  hung  over  the  bul- 
wark to  survey  the  frothing  water  below  and  the  growing 
greenness  beyond;  at  every  ship's  sound  he  turned  tow- 
ard the  doorway  that  led  below.  But  for  all  his  longing 
and  all  his  impatience  he  was  gratified  with  no  further 
speech  with  the  pretty  lady,  and  with  no  further  sight  of 
her  until  the  Roi-Soleil  had  made  its  way  across  its  meas- 
ure of  waters,  until  the  spires  and  roofs  and  chimneys  of 
the  Cove  had  long  been  countable  and  recognizable,  until 
the  faces  of  them  that  thronged  the  quay  were  plainly 
visible,  until  the  vessel  ran  alongside  the  landing-place 
and  coiled  ropes  whizzed  through  the  air,  skilfully  directed, 
and  the  Roi-Soleil  was  made  fast  to  the  soil  of  Ireland. 
Then,  but  not  till  then,  did  the  young  lady  appear  again 
upon  the  deck.  This  time  she  was  quite  unapproachable 


COMING   HOME 

for  the  O'Flynn.  She  was  in  the  captain's  care,  and  kept 
close  to  his  side;  and  she  was  muffled  up  in  a  hooded 
cloak  that  seemed  to  envelope  her  person  like  an  im- 
penetrable cloud.  He  got,  indeed,  a  glimpse  of  her  face 
as  she  crossed  the  gangway  hanging  on  the  captain's  arm, 
and  she  vouchsafed  him  the  slightest  of  slight  salutations 
that  seemed  to  mark  the  end  of  that  short  sea-chapter  in 
the  life  of  the  O'Flynn.  It  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that 
he  carried  himself  over  the  gangway  in  his  turn  and  set 
foot  on  Irish  land. 


n 

IN    MY    LORD'S    CLOSET 

AT  about  the  time  when  the  Roi-Soleil  was  sailing  from 
Brest,  my  Lord  Shrewsbury  received  a  visitor  in  his 
official  apartments  at  Whitehall.  My  Lord  Shrewsbury 
was  in  his  private  life  a  fastidious  gentleman  that  pro- 
fessed to  be  very  choice  in  his  friendships  and  acquaint- 
anceships. Although  those  that  did  not  love  him  quali- 
fied him  by  the  name  of  traitor,  he  always  carried  himself 
as  if  he  not  only  believed  himself  to  be  but  was  generally 
admitted  to  be  one  of  the  noblest  as  well  as  the  stateliest 
of  men.  In  his  political  life,  however,  my  Lord  Shrews- 
bury made  many  strange  acquaintances,  and  it  was  one 
of  these  strange  acquaintances  that  he  was  waiting  to 
receive  and  was  anxious  to  receive  on  the  day  in  question. 
My  Lord  Shrewsbury  had  given  instructions  that  the  mo- 
ment a  certain  man  came  to  his  doors  with  a  certain  word 
on  his  lips  he  was  instantly  to  be  admitted  to  my  lord's 
private  apartment.  He  expected  the  man,  so  he  told  his 
confidential  servant,  at  or  about  noon,  and  as  the  gilded 
clock  in  my  lord's  closet  struck  the  first  stroke  of  twelve 
the  man  he  was  expecting  made  his  appearance. 

Lord  Shrewsbury's  visitor  was  a  man  to  whom  at  a 
first  glance  an  ordinary  observer  would  never  think  of 
devoting  a  second  glance.  Probably,  however,  any  one 

JO 


IN   MY   LORD'S   CLOSET 

devoting  such  a  second  glance  might  be  tempted  to  give 
a  third  and  thereafter  even  a  fourth.  The  man  was  com- 
monplace enough,  of  middle  height,  with  a  countenance 
that  seemed  largely  devoid  of  expression;  his  coloring, 
his  habit,  and  his  carriage  Were  all  nondescript;  he  might 
edge  his  way  through  a  crowd  and  scarcely  attract  the 
notice  of  any  one,  and  yet  there  was  no  man  in  England, 
with  the  exception  of  his  Majesty  King  William  III., 
whom  Lord  Shrewsbury  was  not  more  pleased  to  see  that 
morning.  As  soon  as  the  man  came  he  was  shown  into 
the  private  apartment  of  his  lordship  and  he  waited  there 
for  a  few  seconds  alone.  In  those  few  seconds  he  stood 
before  the  fireplace  looking  at  the  clock  with  an  air  of  list- 
less indifference,  the  indifference  of  a  man  who  thought 
little  of  life  and  expected  little  of  life.  The  indifference 
remained  upon  him  even  when  he  was  perfectly  well  aware 
that  my  Lord  Shrewsbury  had  lifted  the  curtains  that  sepa- 
rated the  closet  from  the  adjoining  room  and  was  standing 
close  behind  him.  He  did  not  turn  or  show  any  sign  of 
knowledge  of  my  lord's  entrance  until  my  lord  spoke. 

"Well,  Hendrigg,"  Shrewsbury  said,  "you  are  punc- 
tual." 

The  man  turned  slowly  round  with  no  more  than  the 
faintest  suggestion  of  an  ironical  smile  upon  his  face,  as  he 
faced  the  great  nobleman  whom  his  admirers  were  pleased 
to  call  the  King  of  Hearts. 

"I  am  always  punctual,  my  lord,"  he  said,  quietly,  "that 
is  how  I  manage  to  get  so  much  work  done." 

My  Lord  Shrewsbury  nodded  approval.  "You  are  a 
good  worker,  Hendrigg,"  he  said,  "a  better  never  served 
the  King." 

The  King  of  Hearts  was  silent  for  a  moment  looking  at 


THE   O'FLYNN 

the  man  before  him.  Perhaps  he  was  thinking  of  how 
often  he  had  spoken  of  a  king  and  a  king's  service  with  no 
thought  in  his  mind  of  the  monarch  from  Holland  that  was 
now  busy  in  his  state  apartments  but  a  little  way  removed 
from  the  room  in  which  they  stood.  Whatever  the  reason 
for  his  silence,  that  silence  seemed  to  be  disapproved  by 
Hendrigg,  who,  without  any  pretence  of  deference,  inter- 
rupted his  lordship's  reflections. 

"I  take  it,"  he  said,  "that  your  lordship  has  business  for 
me  now.  The  sooner  your  lordship  lets  me  know  what 
this  business  is  the  sooner  I  can  put  it  in  hand  and,  there- 
fore, the  sooner  it  will  be  finished." 

My  Lord  Shrewsbury  smiled  good-humoredly  at  the 
man's  brusqueness.  He  knew  what  Roger  Hendrigg  was, 
and  he  knew  his  worth  and  was  willing  to  humor  him. 
He  bade  him  to  be  seated  and,  seating  himself  near  him  at 
the  little  table  which  seemed  so  large  in  the  small  chamber, 
leaned  over  the  smooth  surface  and  began  to  give  him  his 
instructions  in  the  rapid  tones  of  one  that  has  prepared 
what  he  has  to  say  and  is  able  to  say  it  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible. 

"Hiave  information,"  Shrewsbury  said,  "that  the  wife 
of  James  Stuart  is  striving  to  do  her  husband  a  good  turn 
by  sending  him  over  her  jewels  to  replenish  his  emptied 
exchequer.  Mary  of  Modena  " — Shrewsbury's  loyalty  pre- 
vented him,  apparently,  from  according  the  titles  of  Queen 
and  King  to  his  abandoned  sovereigns — "Mary  of  Modena 
has  few  jewels  left,  but  those  few  are  rare  enough.  One  is 
the  blue  Mogul  diamond,  another  is  the  great  Turkish 
ruby,  and  the  third  is  the  famous  necklace  of  pearls  which 
she  owes  to  Dick  Talbot.  Any  one  of  these  jewels  is  valu- 
able enough  to  raise  a  small  army  for  James  Stuart;  the 
12 


IN   MY   LORD'S    CLOSET 

three  together,  if  they  come  into  his  hands,  could  keep  him 
in  funds  for  another  six  months  at  least.  You  will  readily 
understand  that  it  is  my  wish  and  the  wish  of  all  those  who 
serve  his  Majesty" — and,  as  he  spoke,  he  glanced  deferen- 
tially at  the  portrait  of  William  of  Orange  which  adorned 
the  wall — "  that  these  jewels  should  not  come  into  the 
hands  of  James  Stuart." 

He  paused  for  a  moment  as  if  expecting  Hendrigg  to  say 
something,  but  Hendrigg,  having  come  to  listen  and  not  to 
speak,  said  nothing.  He  merely  nodded  his  head,  and 
Shrewsbury,  as  one  that  took  as  well  as  gave  command, 
went  on. 

"We  are  given  to  understand  that  Mary  of  Modena  has 
entrusted  each  of  these  jewels  to  a  different  lady  of  her 
court  to  be  conveyed  to  Ireland  by  a  different  route.  The 
Mogul  diamond  and  the  ruby  go  by  ports  for  which  we 
have  already  taken  precautions.  The  pearls,  we  believe, 
are  to  travel  by  way  of  Brest,  and  the  pearls  we  leave  in 
your  hands." 

Hendrigg  looked  at  the  speaker  with  a  shade  more 
interest  than  he  had  hitherto  accorded  to  his  narrative. 

"Am  I  to  go  to  Brest?"  he  questioned. 

My  Lord  Shrewsbury  shook  his  head,  "No,"  he  an- 
swered. "We  believe  they  will  be  conveyed  from  Brest  to 
Cork  by  a  young  lady,  the  Lady  Benedetta  Mountmichael, 
who  will  be  travelling  ostensibly  to  visit  her  father,  my 
Lord  Mountmichael,  who  has  taken  advantage  of  the  situa- 
tion in  Ireland  to  reside  for  the  time  being  on  his  Munster 
estates.  It  is  your  task  to  see  that  the  pearls  do  not  arrive 
at  Mountmichael." 

Hendrigg  nodded.  "Is  that  all?"  he  said.  "That  is 
easy  enough." 

13 


THE   O'FLYNN 

"Not  quite,"  Shrewsbury  continued.  "You  are  then  to 
proceed  to  Dublin  where  you  are  to  obtain,  under  condi- 
tions of  absolute  secrecy  and  security,  an  interview  with 
my  Lord  Sedgemouth." 

Here  again  Shrewsbury  paused  and  scrutinized  the  face 
of  Hendrigg,  evidently  expecting  to  read  some  surprise  on 
the  man's  countenance  on  the  naming  of  that  name.  His 
expectation  was  disappointed.  Hendrigg's  face  showed 
no  surprise,  only  tranquil  acquiescence.  Hendrigg  ut- 
tered no  word:  he  waited,  plainly,  for  further  instruc- 
tions. 

"You  have  heard,"  Shrewsbury  went  on,  "of  my  Lord 
Sedgemouth  as  a  devoted  champion  of  the  Stuart  cause, 
as  the  most  outspoken  adherent  of  the  misguided  dynasty 
that  has  happily  been  dethroned." 

"I  have  heard  all  that,"  Hendrigg  quietly  observed, 
"  but  my  knowledge  of  mankind  has  not  convinced  me  that 
those  that  have  much  loyalty  on  their  lips  have  necessarily 
any  loyalty  in  their  hearts." 

Shrewsbury  shot  a  sharp  glance  at  the  speaker,  but  there 
was  no  satirical  expression  on  the  man's  pale,  patient  face, 
whatever  satirical  thought  may  have  lingered  in  his  mind. 
Hendrigg  had  a  way  of  saying  what  he  pleased,  but  it  was 
not  always  given  to  his  hearers  to  be  sure  of  the  precise 
significance  of  his  speech. 

"Then,"  Shrewsbury  went  on,  "it  will  not  surprise  you 
to  learn  that  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  is,  in  fact,  devoted  to 
the  service  of  his  Majesty  King  William." 

"It  does  not  surprise  me  in  the  least,"  Hendrigg  re- 
marked, dryly.  "I  have  known  so  many  men  profess  de- 
votion to  James  Stuart  one  day  that  were  stanch  servants 
of  King  William  on  the  morrow  that  I  think  my  surprise 


IN   MY   LORD'S   CLOSET 

would  be  to  find  a  voluble  Jacobite  that  was  not  orange  at 
heart." 

Before  the  plainness  of  the  man's  speech,  the  bluntness 
of  the  man's  manner,  Lord  Shrewsbury's  lips  tightened  a 
little,  but  he  showed  no  further  sign  of  heeding  Hendrigg's 
remark,  and  he  went  on  in  his  usual  somewhat  labored 
voice  that  aimed  to  give,  not  merely  the  meaning,  but  more 
than  the  meaning  of  each  ample  sentence. 

"My  Lord  Sedgemouth  remains  in  Dublin  waiting  for  a 
message  from  me.  You  shall  be  the  bearer  of  that  mes- 
sage, good  Hendrigg,  and  thus  kill  two  birds  with  one 
stone.  When  you  have  managed  the  matter  of  the  jewels 
you  will  go  to  the  Irish  capital  and  put  yourself  in  com- 
munication with  his  lordship.  There  is,  I  understand,  a 
tavern  in  the  town,  within  a  stone's-throw  of  the  castle,  that 
carries  the  sign  of  the  Isle  of  Cyprus.  My  Lord  Sedge- 
mouth,  as  advised  by  me  in  a  secret  interview  I  had  with 
him  before  he  went  to  Dublin,  makes  it  his  habit  to  fre- 
quent this  tavern  nightly  waiting  for  the  message  that  I 
have  not  yet  sent  him — the  message  that  you  are  now  go- 
ing to  carry." 

He  paused  at  the  end  of  this  sentence,  surveying 
Hendrigg  intently — paused,  indeed,  so  long  that  Hen- 
drigg, who  was  essentially  a  man  of  action,  grew 
impatient  at  the  delay,  and  made  bold  to  press  his  lord- 
ship. 

"What  message  do  I  carry,  may  it  please  your  lord- 
ship ?"  he  asked,  with  the  easy  tone  of  a  man  who  knew 
himself  to  be  important  enough  to  take  liberties  with  great 
statesmen.  Lord  Shrewsbury  condescended  to  smile  at  the 
peremptory  questioning  of  the  man  who  was,  nominally  at 
least,  his  servant. 

15 


THE    O'FLYNN 

"We  live,  my  good  Hendrigg,"  he  said,  "in  troubled 
times." 

Hendrigg  grunted  unsympathetically.  He  knew  from 
long  experience  that  when  Lord  Shrewsbury  began  in  this 
fashion  he  was  inclined  to  be  lengthy  and  also  inclined  to 
be  dull.  My  Lord  Shrewsbury  disregarded  the  grunt,  and 
continued  his  harangue. 

"We  have  had  the  misfortune  to  be  for  a  time  like  a 
rudderless  ship  upon  a  troublous  sea.  The  pilot  in  whom 
we  had  trusted" — and  here  my  Lord  Shrewsbury  heaved 
a  heavy  sigh — "that  pilot,  I  say,  had  deserted  us,  and  we 
were  left,  as  it  seemed,  to  the  mercy  of  winds  and  waters. 
But  happily,  as  you  know,  we  were  rescued  in  our  hour  of 
distress  by  one  who  now  commands  the  noble  vessel  that 
carries  the  name  of  England" — here  again  my  Lord 
Shrewsbury  cocked  a  deferential  eye  in  the  direction  of  the 
portrait  of  William  of  Orange — "  and  under  whom  we  have 
every  reason  to  hope  that  we  may  reach  a  favorable  haven 
and  ride  awhile  in  safety.  But,  my  good  Hendrigg,  that 
pilot  of  whom  I  speak,  that  false,  pernicious  pilot  who 
abandoned  us  in  our  hour  of  danger,  has  now  turned  pirate, 
and  menaces  this  at  present  happy  realm  with  all  the 
devices  that  tyranny  can  command  and  treason  can  assist." 

His  lordship  paused  to  take  breath,  and  Hendrigg 
grunted  again  still  more  disapprovingly,  but  my  Lord 
Shrewsbury  was  too  full  of  his  fancy  to  heed  his  subordi- 
nate's protest,  and  my  Lord  Shrewsbury  persisted. 

"To  quit  metaphor,  my  friend,"  he  said,  and  Hendrigg 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he  said  it,  "by  the  pilot  turned 
pirate  I  mean,  as  no  doubt  you  have  already  guessed,  our 
late  master,  James  Stuart.  That  malignant  and  unscru- 
pulous despot  has  enthroned  himself  in  Ireland,  an  island 
16 


IN    MY    LORD'S   CLOSET 

that,  unfortunately,  is  always  oblivious  of  the  benefits  it 
has  received  from  the  Government  of  England,  and  in  the 
capital  of  that  distracted  country  he  continues  to  levy  war 
against  our  beloved  sovereign  and  to  menace  the  peace  of 
his  loyal  subjects.  I  wish  I  could  say  to  you,  my  good 
Hendrigg,  that  the  efforts  of  James  Stuart  are  unavailing, 
are  but  a  beating  of  the  winds,  a  sowing  of  the  sands,  a 
ploughing  of  the  seas,  but,  alas!  I  cannot  truthfully  and  con- 
fidently say  as  much.  There  is  in  politics  always  a  chance 
that  the  wrong  cause  may  prosper  at  least  for  a  season,  and 
it  is  within  the  limits  of  human  conception  that  Heaven,  for 
some  inscrutable  purpose  of  its  own,  may  allow  James 
Stuart  to  return  for  a  time  to  the  scene  of  his  former 
iniquities.  That  possibility  I  hope,  with  your  aid  and  that 
of  my  Lord  Sedgemouth,  successfully  to  checkmate,," 

He  showed  signs  of  continuing  his  oration,  but  by  this 
time  Hendrigg's  patience  was  exhausted,  and  he  showed 
the  fact  in  speech. 

"If  your  lordship,"  he  said,  "will  kindly  tell  me  what  I 
am  to  do  and  what  Lord  Sedgemouth  is  to  do,  in  as  few 
words  as  possible,  we  shall  be  nearer  to  the  fulfilment  of 
your  wishes." 

Lord  Shrewsbury  winced  a  little  at  the  directness  of  the 
man,  but  he  was  too  well  aware  of  Hendrigg's  value  to  re- 
sent his  frankness,  so,  with  a  slight  shrug  of  his  shoulders, 
he  condescended  to  be  unfamiliarly  brief. 

"The  thing  is  simple  enough,"  he  said,  with  a  faint  note 
of  testiness  in  his  voice.  "  If  James  Stuart  is  allowed  to 
continue  his  career  of  crime  in  Ireland  his  final  overthrow 
is  daily  rendered  more  difficult  and  more  costly  both  in 
the  money  of  our  exchequer  and  the  blood  of  our  brave 
soldiers.  It  has  occurred,  therefore,  to  certain  advisers  of 
17 


THE   O'FLYNN 

his  Majesty" — and  here  my  Lord  Shrewsbury  smirked 
complacently  with  the  wish  to  make  it  plain  to  Hendrigg 
that  he  was  the  intelligence  referred  to — "though  not  in- 
deed with  his  Majesty's  cognizance,  because  his  Majesty's 
spirit  of  mercy  and  tolerance  is  familiar  to  all,  that  it 
would  be  well  for  this  distracted  kingdom  if  the  turbulent 
element  which  is,  as  it  were,  centred  in  the  person  of  James 
Stuart,  could  be  removed  from  the  political  field." 

My  Lord  Shrewsbury  paused  again  and  eyed  Hendrigg 
sagaciously,  and  again  Hendrigg,  surlily  resentful  of  my 
lord's  eloquence,  pushed  directly  at  a  purpose. 

"  Do  you  mean  assassination  ?"  he  questioned,  sharply, 
and  frowned  slightly  as  my  Lord  Shrewsbury  threw  up  his 
hands  in  horrified  protest. 

"Assassination,  my  good  Hendrigg!  Certainly  not.  The 
idea  that  has  occurred  to  me  "  —  he  coughed  hastily  — 
"that  has  occurred  to  certain  advisers  of  his  Majesty,  is 
that  it  might  be  perfectly  feasible  to  remove  James  Stuart 
from  his  quasi-regal  position  in  Dublin,  to  put  him,  as  it 
were,  out  of  the  way  temporarily,  to  secure  from  him,  by 
a  little  firm  if  gentle  pressure,  some  form  of  abdication 
which  would  paralyze  his  supporters  and  annihilate  his 
hopes.  I  suggested  the  idea  to  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  when 
he  did  me  the  honor  to  visit  me  incognito  in  London  a 
little  while  ago,  and  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  appeared  to  be 
taken  with  the  notion.  My  Lord  Sedgemouth  has  a  cool 
head  and  a  cool  heart,  and  I  think  he  is  safely  to  be  relied 
upon  in  this  adventure.  But  to  carry  out  our  purpose  it  is 
essential  that  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  should  obtain  some 
appointment  very  near  to  the  person  of  the  late  usurper, 
and,  as  I  gather  from  the  communications  which  I  have 
received  in  cipher  from  his  lordship,  James  Stuart  is  for 
18 


IN   MY   LORD'S   CLOSET 

some  reason  unwilling  to  grant  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  the 
post  he  covets.  It  seems  that  James  Stuart  regards  my 
Lord  Sedgemouth  as  too  untried  a  servant  for  any  signal 
mark  of  courtly  favor,  and  has  bade  him  prove  himself 
worthy  of  reward." 

My  lord  paused  for  an  instant.  Hendrigg  yawned  ever 
so  slightly,  but  the  yawn  was  visible — a  distinct  hint  to  the 
Minister  that  his  hearer  was  getting  fatigued.  My  Lord 
Shrewsbury,  albeit  irritated,  took  the  hint,  and  gave  the 
course  of  his  narrative  the  spur. 

"It  seems,"  he  went  on,  "that  James  Stuart  has  an 
almost  childish  desire  to  bring  about  the  capture  of  Knock- 
more  Castle,  in  Wicklow,  which  is  at  present  held  for  his 
gracious  Majesty" — and  again  the  eye  sought  the  picture — 
"by  his  gracious  Majesty's  trusted  and  valuable  servant, 
General  Luitprand  van  Dronk.  The  place  is  perfectly 
safe,  the  forces  that  James  Stuart  has  been  able  to  spare 
are  hopelessly  insufficient;  Van  Dronk  could  hold  out  for 
another  twelve  months  with  ease.  But  if  James  Stuart  is 
wholly  incapable  of  taking  Knockmore,  on  the  other  hand 
Knockmore,  considered  strategically,  is  of  little  or  no  im- 
portance to  us.  It  would  not  matter  to  us,  so  far  as  our 
campaign  in  Ireland  is  concerned,  if  Knockmore  were  capt- 
ured or  if  General  Van  Dronk  chose  to  abandon  it  to  the 
enemy  to-morrow.  Under  these  peculiar  circumstances  it 
has  occurred  to  my  Lord  Sedgemouth,  and  I  must  admit 
that  his  suggestion  seems  to  me  not  unhappy,  that  if  he 
could  insure  the  capture  of  Knockmore  by  himself  he 
would  so  ingratiate  himself  with  the  Pretender  that  James 
Stuart  would  be  bound  to  accord  him  his  confidence  and 
the  post  he  covets." 

Once  again  my  lord  paused,  and  now  Hendrigg  nodded 
'9 


THE   O'FLYNN 

approval.  Here  at  least  was  something  tangible,  some- 
thing that  might  be  done,  something  that  perhaps  was 
going  to  be  done. 

My  Lord  Shrewsbury,  pleased  in  spite  of  himself  by  the 
approval  of  his  agent,  continued. 

"Unfortunately,  however,  for  Lord  Sedgemouth's 
scheme,  his  undoubted  courage  is  not  fortified  by  military 
gifts,  and  even  if  it  were,  James  Stuart's  forces  are  in  no 
condition  to  take  Knockmore  under  any  generalship.  His 
Majesty's  advisers  have,  therefore,  decided  to  insure  my 
Lord  Sedgemouth's  success.  I  have  here" — and  as  he 
spoke  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  folded  paper — "a  docu- 
ment signed  by  his  Majesty,  commanding  General  Van 
Dronk  to  surrender  Knockmore  to  the  bearer  on  the  sole 
condition,  and  this  is  to  save  the  reputation  of  his  Majesty's 
brave  soldiers,  that  he  is  permitted  to  march  out  with  all 
the  honors  of  war.  This  paper  you  are  to  deliver  to  Lord 
Sedgemouth  in  Dublin,  and  he  will  find  the  occasion  to 
present  it  to  General  Van  Dronk." 

"How,"  questioned  Hendrigg,  "am  I  to  make  myself 
known  to  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  ?  How  am  I  to  insure  his 
confidence  in  me  ?" 

Shrewsbury  nodded  approval  of  the  question  of  the  man 
whom  he  trusted  so  deeply. 

"That  is  arranged  for,"  he  said.  He  drew  from  his 
finger  a  heavy  gold  signet  ring  and  placed  it  on  the  table 
in  front  of  Hendrigg.  "This,"  he  said,  "is  one  of  the 
signs  agreed  upon  between  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  and 
myself.  Here  is  another,"  and  he  drew  from  his  waistcoat 
pocket  a  gold  piece  that  had  a  hole  punched  through  the 
middle  of  it.  "This  is  a  guinea  of  James  Stuart,"  he  said, 
"that  we  show  to  be  no  longer  current.  The  third  will 

20 


IN   MY    LORD'S   CLOSET 

be  the  paper  I  have  given  you.  Do  you  thoroughly  under- 
stand what  you  have  to  do  ?" 

"Thoroughly,"  Hendrigg  answered,  simply.  For  his 
own  purposes  a  nod  would  have  been  enough  answer,  but 
he  saw  that  Lord  Shrewsbury  wished  him  to  speak. 

"Then  I  think,"  said  Lord  Shrewsbury,  "there  is  noth- 
ing more  to  be  said." 

"Nothing  whatever,"  Hendrigg  agreed,  with  something 
like  a  show  of  cheerfulness  on  his  impassive  countenance. 
Then  he  rose,  collected  the  ring,  the  coin,  and  the  paper, 
concealed  them  about  his  person,  and,  wishing  my  Lord 
Shrewsbury  a  brief  good-day,  passed  calmly  away  from 
that  august  presence.  Had  he  known  that  he  was  never 
to  enter  it  again  he  would  have  passed  away  as  calmly. 


Ill 

ALL    ON    THE    IRISH    SHORE 

IT  was  whimsical,  and  he  saw  its  whimsicality  at  the 
time,  but  Flynn's  first  thought  on  setting  foot  on  his 
native  shore  after  a  generation  of  absence  was  not  so  much 
joy  at  a  meeting  as  a  regret  at  a  parting.  For  he  was  going 
to  lose  his  fellow-passenger,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  a  life  that  was  familiar  with  many  meetings  and  many 
partings,  he  felt  a  queer  ache  at  the  heart  at  the  thought 
that  he  might  never  see  her  again.  He  could  have  wished 
to  trace  some  faint  reflection  of  his  own  condition  on  the 
face  of  the  girl,  but  any  such  hope  met  with  no  results. 
She  was  frankly  blithe  and  cheerful  to  be  done  with  the  sea 
and  the  ship,  and  to  walk  the  earth  again  and  to  be  going 
where  she  was  going,  though  where  that  was  O'Flynn  had 
no  idea.  She  had  not  volunteered  to  tell  him,  and  any 
cunning  suggestions  he  had  thrown  out  were  left  politely 
unanswered.  A  carriage,  with  a  coachman  and  a  pair  of 
footmen,  was  waiting  for  the  lady  on  the  quay.  These,  he 
learned,  were  to  convey  her,  for  temporary  rest  and  re- 
freshment, to  the  best  inn  that  Cork  could  offer — after 
which  she  was  to  set  upon  her  journey.  With  a  pleasant 
smile  she  gave  her  hand  and  he  stooped  and  kissed  it  with 
the  exaggerated  courtesy  of  the  old  soldier  who  essays  to 
play  the  gallant.  Then  she  got  into  her  coach  and  the 
22 


ALL   ON    THE    IRISH   SHORE 

coach  rumbled  away,  and  O'Flynn  found  himself  feeling 
very  dismal  indeed. 

However,  he  had  to  be  jogging.  For  him,  as  his  hands 
fumbled  in  the  empty  pockets  of  his  breeches,  for  him 
there  was  no  lingering  in  best  inn  or  worst  inn  in  Cork, 
neither  for  him  was  there  any  hiring  of  coach  or  taking  of 
post.  For  all  that  he  was  going  back  to  claim  an  inherit- 
ance and  assume  the  airs  and  the  position  of  a  country- 
gentleman,  he  was  for  the  moment  scarcely  better  off  than 
any  beggar  by  the  roadside.  The  few  coins  he  had  that 
were  sewn  into  the  flap  of  his  waistcoat  were  a  sort  of  sacred 
depository  not  to  be  lightly  drawn  upon.  However, 
O'Flynn  had  good  spirits;  he  had  breakfasted  on  board 
the  ship,  he  had  a  stout  pair  of  legs  and  he  told  himself 
that  Shank's  mare  made  ever  the  best  riding.  He  knew 
the  way  well  enough,  and  it  was,  therefore,  at  once  with 
the  wish  to  get  to  his  journey's  end  as  soon  as  possible  — 
and  the  wish  to  forget  how  sorry  he  was  for  the  departure 
of  the  fair  lady — that  he  set  out  on  his  road. 

He  had  soon  crossed  the  city,  which,  as  he  noted,  had 
changed  little,  if  at  all,  during  the  years  of  his  absence,  and 
found  himself  in  the  open  country.  The  day  was  bright, 
with  a  brisk  and  pleasant  wind  that  had  been  strong  enough 
to  dry  the  night's  rain  and  leave  the  road  neither  muddy  nor 
dusty.  It  was  not  a  good  road — there  were  no  good  roads 
— but  O'Flynn  had  tramped  worse  in  Silesia  and  Poland 
and  the  low  countries,  and  birds  were  calling  to  birds  in 
the  hedges  and  the  sky  was  of  a  dappled  blue  and  O'Flynn's 
spirits  tempted  him  to  whistle  as  he  trod  sturdily  along  the 
causeway.  He  occupied  himself  as  he  walked  for  a  while 
with  thoughts  of  what  he  would  do  with  his  inheritance; 
then,  having  arranged  these  matters  fairly  to  his  satisfac- 
3  23 


THE   O'FLYNN 

tion  and  having  decided  upon  the  mode  and  color  of  his 
necessary  new  clothes,  he  fell  to  the  making  of  songs  in  the 
Gaelic,  a  pastime  he  had  always  delighted  in  and  had  in- 
dulged often  enough  in  less  congenial  conditions. 

It  was  just  noon  and  he  had  covered  something  like  a 
third  of  his  journey  when  his  stomach  suggested  to  him 
that  it  was  time  to  dine.  For  this  suggestion  he  was  not 
unprepared,  as  he  had  consigned  to  the  huge  pockets  of  his 
white  coat  a  small  store  of  provisions  from  the  ship's  table 
made  in  a  skilful  moment  of  forage  during  the  temporary 
absence  of  the  captain.  He  sat  down  by  the  roadside  un- 
der a  blackthorn  hedge  and  prepared  to  enjoy  himself.  It 
was  not  a  very  sumptuous  meal — a  thick  slice  of  ham,  a 
chunk  of  cheese,  and  a  corner  of  bread — but  it  served  the 
turn,  and  he  made  merry  over  it;  and  it  had  not  to  be  eaten 
dry,  for  he  produced  from  the  other  pocket  of  his  coat  a 
handsome,  if  sadly  battered,  old  silver  flask  from  which  he 
assisted  himself  to  several  libations  of  a  ripe  old  brandy. 
Then,  the  rage  of  thirst  and  hunger  satisfied — so  he  quoted 
Homer  to  himself  as  he  sat — he  produced  a  clay  pipe  from 
an  inner  pocket  and  tobacco  from  his  waistcoat  and  filled 
and  smoked  and  assured  himself  that  he  was  as  happy  as 
a  king.  Yet  all  the  time  he  knew  he  wasn't;  all  the  time 
he  knew  that  he  was  really  thinking  of  the  girl,  and  her 
dark  hair  seemed  ever  to  be  fluttering  across  the  sunlight. 

He  was  disturbed  in  his  meditations  by  the  sound  of 
wheels,  and,  looking  up,  from  his  lazy  ease,  he  saw  a  coach 
approaching  him  and  in  another  second  realized  that  it 
was  the  coach,  the  coach  that  carried  the  lovely  lady.  It 
came  by  him  slowly  enough,  rumbling  along  the  road  with 
its  great  heavy  wheels,  and  the  two  footmen  hanging  on 
behind  jolting  about  like  puppets  over  the  nodosities  of 
24 


ALL   ON   THE   IRISH   SHORE 

the  road.  But  the  fairy  princess  was  inside  it  and  she 
looked  out  as  he  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  nodded  in  re- 
ply to  his  military  salute,  and  so  the  coach  went  on  and 
turned  the  road  and  was  out  of  sight,  and  there  stood 
O'Flynn  staring  after  it  with  his  heart  in  his  mouth.  So 
she  was  going  his  road.  Where  was  she  going  ?  If  he 
only  knew.  For  a  moment  he  thought  of  keeping  the 
coach  in  view.  Then  he  reflected  this  would  be  like  spy- 
ing upon  a  woman  who  had  plainly  shown  no  intention  of 
letting  him  know  either  her  name  or  her  whereabouts,  and 
he  resisted  temptation  sturdily.  The  more  sturdily,  per- 
haps, because  for  all  his  length  of  leg  and  quickness  of 
motion  he  could  not  hope  to  overtake  a  coach  drawn  by 
such  good  horses  on  a  road  so  viable. 

He  did  not  resume  his  seat  by  the  roadside,  but  strolled 
leisurely  along  the  winding  road,  busy  with  his  thoughts. 
The  pretty  lady  —  would  she  be  more  interested  in  him, 
he  wondered,  if  she  knew  who  he  was,  the  O'Flynn  of 
O'Flynn,  returning  after  twenty-odd  years  of  foreign  ser- 
vice to  the  castle  of  his  ancestors — to  dwell  there  in  ease  and 
plenty  and  splendor  ?  He  wished  he  had  been  able  to  tell 
her  this;  this  was  what  he  had  meant  to  tell  her,  but  then 
the  pretty  lady  had  given  him  no  fitting  occasion  to  un- 
bosom himself.  His  reflections  drifted  into  the  past,  to  his 
earliest  memories.  He  thought  of  his  grandfather,  a  grim, 
old  gentleman  in  rusty  black  whose  only  pleasure  was  to 
talk  of  the  days  when  he  had  served  King  Charles  against 
his  rebels,  and  whose  reputation  among  the  countryside 
people  of  being  a  miser  had  filled  his  childish  mind  with 
awe  and  horror.  He  thought  of  his  parent,  Phelim 
O'Flynn,  the  flagrant  opposite  of  his  grandsire,  always  gor- 
geous in  tawdry  raiment,  always  noisy  with  drink,  always 
25 


THE   O'FLYNN 
i 

riotous,  quarrelsome,  truculent.  O'Flynn  remembered 
with  a  sigh  that  if  he  had  feared  his  grandfather  he  had 
undoubtedly  hated  his  father. 

To  Flynn  O'Flynn  the  year  1623,  which  numbered 
among  its  less  important  incidents  the  whimsical  Spanish 
escapade  of  Baby  Charles  and  Steenie  and  the  publication 
of  the  works  of  Mr.  William  Shakespeare,  dramatist,  in 
folio  form,  was  chiefly  remarkable  for  the  fact  that  it  was 
the  birth-year  of  Phelim  O'Flynn,  who  was  destined  by 
providence  to  become,  thirty  years  later,  the  parent  of 
Flynn  O'Flynn.  Phelim  O'Flynn,  unlike  his  parent,  was 
no  cheese-parer,  no  skinflint,  no  putter-by.  He  never  cast 
a  prophetic  eye  upon  the  financial  heavens  and  weighed 
the  possibility  of  a  rainy  day.  It  was  ever  light  come  and 
light  go  with  him,  and  Desmond  O'Flynn,  his  father,  saw 
with  a  sour  eye  the  waxing  prodigalities  of  his  son.  Des- 
mond O'Flynn  had  always  been  a  near  man — the  only  one 
of  his  race  of  whom  such  a  characteristic  could  be  recorded 
— and  the  fact  caused  no  little  comment,  satiric  and  pa- 
thetic, among  a  peasantry  who  had  come  through  genera- 
tions to  regard  the  O'Flynn  as  a  kind  of  symbol  of  all  the 
lavish  instincts  of  man.  They  accounted  for  his  misfort- 
une in  various  ways,  attributing  it  for  the  most  part  to 
some  whimsical  vengeance  of  offended  fairies,  and  they 
rejoiced  with  simple  sincerity  when  they  saw  that  Patrick 
O'Flynn  differed  from  his  thrifty  sire  and  returned  to  the 
honorable  traditions  of  the  stock.  Desmond  O'Flynn  in 
no  wise  shared  their  rejoicings  over  his  son. 

When  Desmond  O'Flynn  came  to  his  death  it  was  found 

that  he  had  left  to  Patrick  the  estate,  together  with  such 

a  sum  of  money  as,  according  to  the  calculations  of  the 

prudent  man,  would  maintain  the  castle  in  decency  and 

26 


ALL   ON   THE   IRISH   SHORE 

comfort  for  a  careful  heir.  The  hopes  of  vast  wealth  which 
had  been  entertained  by  Phelim  were  gravely  dashed  when 
the  Dublin  lawyers  explained  to  him  the  position  of  affairs. 
The  common  belief  of  the  peasantry  in  Desmond  O'Flynn's 
great  wealth  was  rudely  shaken  by  this  revelation,  and  in 
order  to  justify  a  former  credulity  a  present  imagination 
set  itself  to  work  to  establish  a  legend.  It  was  whispered 
about  the  countryside  that  Desmond  O'Flynn,  being  a 
miser  and  having  a  miser's  mania,  had  hidden  the  treas- 
ures he  was  reputed  to  possess  in  some  obscure  nook  of 
the  castle.  This  belief  troubled  Phelim  O'Flynn  little 
enough  in  the  beginning.  He  had  money  enough  and  to 
spare,  for  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  carry  out  the  old 
man's  suggestions  and  attempt  to  live  upon  the  interest  of 
the  money  left  to  him.  He  squandered  his  capital  with  a 
prodigal  excess,  entertaining  boon  companions  of  both  sexes 
from  Dublin,  and  seeming  to  take  as  much  pleasure  in  mak- 
ing his  money  spin  as  his  father  had  in  making  his  lie  quiet. 

Flynn  O'Flynn  was  a  bit  of  a  boy  when  his  father  came 
into  the  inheritance  he  seemed  so  determined  to  get  out  of. 
Between  him  and  his  father  there  had  never  been  much 
love  lost.  The  father  had  loved  but  little  the  wife  that  was 
Flynn's  mother,  the  mother  that  Flynn  never  knew,  and 
his  distaste  for  the  woman  that  gave  him  an  heir  he  car- 
ried on  with  undiminished  vigor  to  that  heir. 

Flynn  passed  an  unhappy  youth  in  Castle  O'Flynn,  the 
victim  of  his  brutal  father's  tyranny,  the  butt  of  his  father's 
coarse  friends,  his  only  pleasures  the  wild  life  of  the 
countryside,  and  his  only  companions  the  peasants,  who 
saw  in  him  an  honorable  descendant  of  the  O'Flynns  of 
old  time.  Flynn  learned  to  fish  and  ride  and  climb  and 
fight.  He  grew  tall  and  broad  and  strong,  and  with  his 
27 


THE   O'FLYNN 

growing  strength  there  grew  a  hatred  for  his  surroundings 
and  a  resolve  to  have  done  with  them.  This  resolve  came 
to  a  head  on  one  wild  day  when  the  taunts  and  bullyings  of 
a  drunken  friend  of  his  drunken  father  ended  in  a  brawl 
in  which  Flynn  handled  his  tormentor  so  roughly  that  he 
lay  on  the  floor  like  a  dead  man,  and  even  Phelim  O'Flynn, 
drunken  and  ruffianly  though  he  was,  was  sober  enough 
and  wise  enough  to  keep  his  hands  off  his  angry  offspring. 
That  evening  Flynn  O'Flynn  said  good-bye  to  the  only 
man  in  the  castle  for  whom  he  cared  at  all,  to  Conachor 
O'Rourke,  that  had  been  his  grandfather's  servant,  and 
was  now  his  father's  servant,  and  that  always  had  loved 
Flynn  well.  A  little  later  Flynn  had  left  Ireland  and 
thereafter  came  twenty-odd  troubled  years  of  wars  in  this 
country  and  that,  of  the  wearing  of  one  uniform  after  an- 
other, and  the  following  of  flag  after  flag,  of  tramping 
across  Europe  and  tasting  all  changes  of  luck  as  is  the  way 
of  the  vagabond  soldier  of  fortune,  now  with  a  pocketful 
of  money  gratifying  every  taste,  now  with  empty  purse  and 
empty  belly  grinning  cheerfully  in  the  face  of  adversity. 
As  Flynn  tramped  the  Cork  highroad  and  recalled  the  life 
that  lay  between  his  leaving  his  native  land  and  this,  his 
return  to  it,  he  smiled  as  he  thought  to  himself  that  there 
lay  the  material  ready  to  his  hands  for  as  good  a  volume 
of  memoirs  as  another.  He  pictured  himself  seated  at  ease 
in  Castle  O'Flynn,  eating  of  the  best  and  drinking  of  the 
best,  and  employing  his  leisure  in  the  compilation  of  his 
biography.  Absorbed  in  the  agreeable  fancies  thus  stimu- 
lated, the  briskness  of  his  footsteps  began  to  flag  and  his 
pace  on  the  roadway  had  diminished  to  a  mere  leisurely 
walk,  when  that  occurred  which  dissipated  his  dreams  and 
quickened  his  speed. 

28 


IV 

HOW  ROGER  HENDRIGG  BECAME  SOME  ONE  ELSE 

ROGER  HENDRIGG  came  out  of  the  hot  air  of  my 
Lord  Shrewsbury's  closet  in  Whitehall  into  the  cooler 
air  of  the  street  with  a  sense  of  physical  relief.  He  was 
naturally  impatient  of  the  slow  processes  of  men  like  the 
great  nobleman  he  had  just  quitted,  who,  from  long  force 
of  habit  in  the  affairs  of  state,  took  ten  times  the  time  need- 
ful for  the  conception  of  a  plan  and  twenty  times  the  time 
needful  for  its  execution.  Yet  he  felt  no  resentment  at  the 
fact  that  it  was  his  place  in  life  to  serve  masters  of  slower 
wits  and  lamer  resolution  than  himself. 

He  knew  very  well  that  he  was  one  of  the  men  that  help 
to  make  history;  and  he  knew,  equally  well,  that  history 
would  never  take  any  notice  of  his  pains.  He  was  well 
content,  however,  as  men  of  his  kind  have  been  content 
through  all  the  ages  and  will  be  content  so  long  as  the  ages 
endure,  to  know  that  he  did  the  things  that  were  of  mo- 
ment, and  to  rejoice  in  the  doing  of  them  for  the  mere  sake 
of  the  doing.  Certain  men  are  sent  into  the  world  from 
time  to  time  with  the  special  aptitude  for  secret  service,  for 
employing  the  arts  of  the  spy,  for  playing  the  part  of  the 
mysterious  and  malignant  busybody  who  causes  plots  and 
counterplots  and  who  is  ever  the  treacherous  instrument 
ready  at  the  hand  of  unscrupulous  governments. 
29 


THE   O'FLYNN 

Roger  Hendrigg  had  been  the  active  hand  and  the  active 
brain  in  many  plots  in  the  course  of  his  mysterious  life. 
He  had  served  under  many  ministers  and  had  always 
served  his  employers  with  fidelity.  He  had  no  principles, 
no  politics,  no  creed;  his  only  impulse  was  the  joy  of  the 
creature  that,  working  in  the  darkness,  accomplishes  facts 
for  which  he  will  never  be  given  credit,  but  which  are  often 
potent  enough  to  upset  a  government  or  to  change  a  dy- 
nasty. There  were  very  few  people  in  the  world  who  knew 
Roger  Hendrigg  as  Roger  Hendrigg;  there  were  certainly 
hundreds  who  knew  him  in  some  one  or  other  of  the  many 
impersonations  under  which  it  had  been  pleasant  as  well 
as  profitable  to  him  to  play  his  part  in  the  capping  and 
mining  of  the  politics  of  his  time.  His  career,  which  had 
begun  not  very  long  after  the  Restoration,  had  originally 
been  passed  in  the  service  of  a  Stuart  sovereign,  but  as  time 
went  on  and  that  sovereign  and  all  that  that  sovereign  rep- 
resented began  to  grow  unpopular,  Hendrigg's  intelligence 
as  well  as  Hendrigg's  interest  drifted  in  the  direction  of  the 
hostile  party.  It  seemed  to  him,  judging  as  he  did  of 
things  about  him  from  the  level  of  a  burgess,  but  with  an 
intelligence  vastly  above  the  understanding  of  the  average 
burgess,  that  the  Stuart  cause  had  run  its  course  in  Eng- 
land. He  calculated  that  those  that  represented  change 
and  protest  and  revolution  were  likely  to  be  winners  in  the 
struggle  that  he,  scarcely  less  acute  in  his  perceptions  than 
the  strongest  thinker  of  his  time,  foresaw  to  be  inevitable. 

With  the  first  dawnings  of  conspiracy  against  the  su- 
premacy of  James  II.,  Roger  Hendrigg  gravitated  natu- 
rally toward  the  new  impulses  and  the  new  forces,  and  those 
that  were  directing  those  impulses  and  those  forces  found 
in  him  an  instrument  rarely  adapted  for  their  purpose. 
30 


HOW  ROGER  BECAME  SOME  ONE  ELSE 

What  Roger  Hendrigg's  past  was  no  one  knew  except 
Roger  Hendrigg,  but  at  least  it  had  served  to  equip  him 
with  a  substantial  education,  with  a  remarkable  experience 
of  men  and  things,  and  with  a  knowledge  little  less  than 
extraordinary  of  the  workings  of  the  middle-class  mind  of 
his  time.  Those  that  knew  him  and  trusted  him  declared 
that  he  could  gauge  to  a  nicety  the  exact  effect  of  any 
political  movement  upon  the  common  thought  of  the  hour, 
and  predict  to  a  nicety  what  effect  would  be  produced  upon 
the  average  man  of  the  average  city  by  any  particular  act 
of  Parliament,  proposition  of  a  minister,  or  hinted  usurpa- 
tion of  a  kingdom. 

It  may  well  be  understood  that  such  a  servant  found 
great  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  masters  who  used  him;  and 
the  favor  was  never  misplaced.  If,  indeed,  Roger  Hen- 
drigg had  no  political  principles  or  beliefs,  he  was  invari- 
ably faithful  to  those  that  employed  him  for  so  long  a 
time  as  the  particular  job  upon  which  he  was  engaged 
might  take,  whether  that  job  were  the  assassination  of  a 
statesman,  the  fomenting  of  a  conspiracy,  or  the  further- 
ance of  a  parliamentary  election. 

Master  Hendrigg  was  one  of  those  politic  persons  who 
from  a  long  experience  of  the  world's  affairs  was  a  firm 
believer  in  the  possibilities  of  chance.  He  knew  well 
enough  that  the  best-planned  scheme,  ably  thought  out  by 
able  men  and  wisely  entrusted  to  able  fingers,  might  be 
blown  into  no  more  than  a  little  handful  of  dust  by  some 
trifling  accident  too  trivial  to  be  other  than  unexpected. 
No  less  was  he  confident,  being  as  he  was  a  fatalist,  that 
in  the  carrying  out  of  well-planned  strategies,  fortune  or 
fate  or  chance  or  luck,  or  whatever  it  may  please  the 
player  of  the  game  to  call  the  whimsical  goddess  who  pre- 
31 


THE   O'FLYNN 

sides  over  such  desperate  adventures,  was  often  likely,  out 
of  kindness  or  malignancy,  which  ever  it  might  be,  to  give 
the  enterprise  a  friendly  jog  with  the  elbow  when  that 
friendly  jog  was  least  expected.  When,  therefore,  Master 
Hendrigg  quitted  the  presence  of  my  Lord  Shrewsbury, 
though  he  was  well  aware  that  what  he  had  to  do  was  simple 
and  straightforward  and  well  devised,  and  it  scarcely  taxed 
his  cool  head,  heart,  and  hand  to  carry  the  thing  through 
to  a  befitting  conclusion,  he  yet  had  at  the  back  of  his 
brain  a  kind  of  feeling,  which  he  would  have  disdained  to 
call  superstition  but  which  was  superstition  none  the  less, 
that  something,  anything,  might  happen,  would  happen  to 
assist  him  toward  his  end. 

As  he  snuffed  the  kindly  May  air  that  came  blowing  tow- 
ard Whitehall  from  the  green  spaces  beyond,  a  feeling 
stole  over  him  vaguely  akin  to  that  which  the  poet  ex- 
periences on  a  May  morning,  a  feeling  of  hopefulness  hard 
to  translate  into  words.  After  all,  in  his  own  way,  Master 
Hendrigg  was  a  poet  if  he  had  ever  chosen  to  argue  the 
point  and  to  insist  that  the  word,  in  its  modest  Greek  sense 
of  maker,  might  justify  him  in  claiming  at  least  the  simu- 
lacrum of  a  laurel  wreath.  At  least  let  this  be  recorded  of 
him  as  so  much  honor  to  his  memory,  that  he  loved  his 
work  as  much  as  any  rhymer  of  rhymes  that  ever  serenaded 
the  muses  and  dreamed  of  a  forehead  whose  baldness  was 
obscured  by  the  bays. 

As  it  happened  Master  Hendrigg's  feelings  or  premoni- 
tions or  fancies,  whatever  you  may  please  to  call  them,  did 
meet  with  what,  at  least,  seemed  to  him  to  be  a  justifica- 
tion. For  when  he  was  making  his  arrangements  for  his 
journey  to  the  port  from  which  he  was  to  take  ship  for 
Ireland,  he  found  at  the  post-house  that  another  person 
32 


HOW  ROGER  BECAME  SOME  ONE  ELSE 

was  no  less  anxious  than  he  to  proceed  with  all  convenient 
speed  to  Ireland.  This  person  pleased  Master  Hendrigg 
mightily,  for  Master  Hendrigg's  point  of  view  was  that  of 
a  man  to  whom  all  human  beings  were  either  more  or  less 
endurable  masters  or  more  or  less  serviceable  tools.  This 
person  was  a  plump,  middle-heighted,  smooth-faced, 
smooth-haired,  foolish,  self-satisfied  individual  who  seemed 
to  consider  himself  of  an  infinite  importance,  and  made  as 
mighty  a  bustle  about  the  furtherance  of  his  journey  as  if 
he  were  going  to  take  command  of  his  Majesty's  forces. 
Such  a  man  was  a  natural  delight  to  a  philosopher  of  Mas- 
ter Hendrigg's  grim  disposition,  but  his  natural  delight  was 
soon  changed  to  the  liveliest  interest,  though  he  showed  no 
sign  of  it,  when  he  learned  what  the  fussy  individual's  pur- 
pose was  and  his  point  of  journey. 

The  fussy  individual  made  no  secret  of  himself,  of  his 
business,  or  of  the  many  little  matters  that  concerned  him. 
His  name,  it  appeared,  was  Peter  Morford.  He  had  been 
for  some  time  drawer  in  the  service  of  a  vintner  in  the 
Minories  that  kept  a  tavern  by  the  name  of  the  Bishop's 
Head,  and  he  was  now  journeying  to  Ireland  and  to  Dublin 
on  a  special  purpose.  That  purpose  was  to  serve  a  kins- 
man of  mine  host  of  the  Bishop's  Head,  one  Master  Bandy, 
of  the  Isle  of  Cyprus  inn  in  Dublin,  hard  by  Dublin  Castle. 
Master  Bandy  was  an  Englishman  that,  for  this  reason  and 
that,  had  adventured  his  career  as  a  publican  in  Dublin, 
being  lured  thereto  by  the  tales  he  had  heard  tell  of  the 
drinking  capacities  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  the  island. 
The  Isle  of  Cyprus  inn  was  a  tavern  that  had  once  been  a 
great  nobleman's  house.  When  that  great  nobleman  came 
to  evil  days  at  the  end  of  a  dissipated  fortune  and  a  dis- 
sipated life  the  great  house  had  been,  in  the  fulness  of 
33 


THE   O'FLYNN 

time,  bought  up  by  Master  Bandy,  who  had  converted  the 
stately  mansion  into  an  amazingly  stately  tavern. 

This  mansion  tavern,  or  tavern  mansion  as  you  please  to 
regard  it,  boasted  a  cellar  as  unexplored  as  a  virgin  forest 
of  the  Amazon.  Master  Bandy,  wisely  anxious  to  set  his 
cellar  in  order,  had  written  to  his  kinsman  to  send  him  a 
competent  assistant  to  perform  the  necessary  task,  and 
Master  Bandy's  kinsman  without  hesitation  had  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  Master  Peter  Morford  and  bade 
him  go  forth  and  do  the  good  work  with  a  light  heart. 
Such  was  the  simple  tale  this  Master  Peter  Morford  told 
in  far  less  simple  language  to  the  secretly  amused  but  out- 
wardly impassive  Hendrigg  on  the  early  stages  of  their 
journey  together. 

To  many  a  listener  the  narrative  would  have  seemed 
tame  and  unattractive  enough,  but  to  Master  Hendrigg  it 
was  fuller  of  fascination  than  the  mystical  murmurings  of 
the  sibyl.  Already  he  recognized  that  the  strange  divinity 
of  chance  had  again  unexpectedly  come  to  his  assistance. 
He  felt  the  sudden  exultation  that  an  unarmed  man  might 
feel,  so  far  as  it  was  ever  possible  for  Master  Hendrigg  to 
feel  unarmed  against  occasion,  if  when  face  to  face  with 
some  desperate  and  well-accoutred  enemy,  an  unseen  friend 
had  thrust  a  trenchant  weapon  into  his  hand.  Already,  as 
Master  Morford  babbled,  fat  and  garrulous,  the  gray  face 
of  Master  Hendrigg  softened  into  a  kind  of  enthusiasm, 
and  his  voice,  on  the  few  occasions  on  which  he  spoke  in 
approval  of  what  Master  Morford  had  to  say,  had  some- 
thing in  it  of  a  whimsical,  if  sinister,  tenderness.  Master 
Hendrigg  might  almost  be  said  to  caress  his  companion 
with  his  looks,  while  in  his  mind  a  scheme  was  swiftly 
shaping,  a  scheme  of  transmutation  protean  in  its  simplicity. 
34 


HOW  ROGER  BECAME  SOME  ONE  ELSE 

Never  did  strange  sea  god  shift  himself  more  swiftly  into 
shape  of  bird,  or  beast,  or  fish,  than  Master  Hendrigg  in 
his  mind's  eye  saw  himself  metamorphosed  into  the  per- 
sonality and  credibility  of  Master  Peter  Morford.  While, 
with  unmoved  face,  he  waited  upon  the  garrulity  of  the 
Londoner,  his  inner  man  was  chuckling  grimly  over  the 
tragic  comedy  that  he  was  rehearsing  at  all  points.  The 
first  act  of  that  tragic  comedy  ended  in  his  complete  ingra- 
tiation  into  the  good  graces  of  the  travelling  drawer.  The 
second  began  at  the  midway  break  in  their  journey.  Here 
they  had  to  seek  lodging  for  the  night,  and  here  Master 
Hendrigg,  professing  very  truly  an  intimate  acquaintance 
with  the  place,  as  indeed  there  were  few  towns  in  England 
with  which  Master  Hendrigg  could  not  boast  intimate  ac- 
quaintance, advised  the  somewhat  bewildered  citizen  to 
seek  shelter,  not  in  the  more  recognized  hostelry  of  the 
place  whose  charges,  so  Master  Hendrigg  averred,  were 
intolerably  high,  but  in  a  place  dear  to  his  own  heart  where 
good  fare  was  to  be  obtained  at  little  cost. 

Master  Morford,  already  delighted  by  the  interest  shown 
in  him  by  the  intelligent  stranger,  was  further  delighted  by 
a  suggestion  that  promised  to  spare  the  purse  in  his  pocket, 
and  he  readily  agreed  to  follow.  Master  Hendrigg  led  the 
way  from  the  main  street  of  the  place  through  highways 
and  byways  to  an  obscure  inn  in  an  obscure  quarter  of  the 
town.  Though  this  inn  had  an  unattractive  outside  it 
showed  pleasant  enough  within;  a  word  or  two  from  Mas- 
ter Hendrigg  was  sufficient  to  insure  the  privacy  of  a  room, 
a  clean  cloth,  a  commendable  supper,  and  some  wine  of  a 
quality  sufficient  to  content  even  such  an  authority  as 
Master  Morford.  If  the  landlord  of  the  inn  had  any  pre- 
vious acquaintance  with  Master  Hendrigg  he  was  at  least 
35 


THE   O'FLYNN 

at  pains  to  betray  no  sign  of  familiarity.  He  took  Master 
Hendrigg's  orders  with  the  deference  due  from  a  host  to  a 
traveller  who  knows  his  way,  and  in  a  little  while  the  two 
newly  -  made  friends  were  seated  opposite  a  well  -  spread 
table  sharing  a  sound  meal  and  sound  wine. 

Under  the  influence  of  food  and  drink  the  little  Lon- 
doner expanded.  He  babbled  on  with  red  cheeks  that  in- 
creased their  color  as  he  named  over  with  loving  alacrity 
vintage  after  vintage.  His  eyes  shone  with  a  benign 
brightness  as  he  enumerated  and  extolled  this  year  and 
that  year  with  its  crudescence  of  Burgundy  and  its  plenti- 
tude  of  Bordeaux,  while  his  tongue  seemed  to  trip  with 
ecstasy  over  the  vine-grown  slopes  of  the  Neckar  and  the 
meadows  of  the  Moselle.  He  talked  of  champagne  and  he 
chuckled  as  he  talked,  he  rolled  in  his  mouth  the  rotund 
name  of  opulent  Hungarian  liquors — the  special  drinkings 
of  popes  and  emperors.  One  would  think  that  the  cellar 
in  the  Minories  had  been  packed  with  all  the  barrels  and 
all  the  bottles  of  all  the  wines  that  had  ever  run  since  Noah 
so  unfortunately  forgot  himself,  so  eloquently  did  the  little 
man  dilate  with  waving  hands  and  eager  jerkings  upon  the 
wealth  of  liquors  that  could  be  commanded  by  the  patrons 
of  the  Bishop's  Head. 

While  he  spoke,  spinning  his  words  till  the  very  air 
seemed  to  take  to  itself  a  kind  of  vinous  heaviness  and  the 
cloudy  smoke  to  wreath  itself  into  the  imagery  of  a  Bacchic 
procession,  all  the  while  the  hard,  set,  expressionless  face 
opposite  watched  him  with  a  watchfulness  that  was  not 
betrayed  by  any  hint  of  intelligence  in  the  closely  lidded 
eyes  or  the  tightly  set  mouth.  Anacreon  would  have  re- 
joiced over  the  babble  of  Master  Morford  unless,  indeed, 
the  tragical  tale  be  true  which  Athenaeus  hints  at,  that  the 
36 


HOW  ROGER  BECAME  SOME  ONE  ELSE 

poet  whose  name  is  most  linked  with  the  worship  of  the 
grape  was,  in  point  of  fact,  a  water-drinker.  If  ever  Master 
Morford  talked  to  the  clients  of  the  Bishop's  Head  with  so 
eloquent  a  praising  of  his  master's  wares  it  might  well  be 
hard  to  understand  why  that  master  could  be  persuaded  to 
part  with  him.  The  little  man  babbled,  the  little  man 
gabbled,  his  companion  plied  him  home  and  hard.  The 
smoke  wreaths  thickened,  the  glasses  emptied  and  filled  as 
if  by  magic,  and  Master  Morford  grew  more  voluble  and 
Master  Hendrigg  more  taciturn  as  the  evening  wore  its 
way.  Spurred  by  his  own  eloquence  Master  Morford 
passed  from  praises  of  his  master's  cellars  to  praises  of  his 
master;  and,  by  a  not  illogical  transition,  from  praises  of 
his  master  to  praises  of  himself.  He  began  to  expatiate, 
as  is  the  way  of  a  certain  kind  of  sot,  upon  his  own  gifts 
and  ambitions.  He  sketched  for  himself  a  golden  future 
in  Dublin — how  he  would  ingratiate  himself  with  Master 
Bandy;  how  he  would  in  time  supplant  that  worthy  in  the 
command  of  the  Isle  of  Cyprus;  how  he  would  even,  in 
the  fulness  of  time,  marry  Master  Bandy's  daughter,  albeit 
he  had  no  knowledge  whatever  either  that  Master  Bandy 
was  blessed  with  a  wife  or  blessed  with  a  family. 

So  he  rattled  on  till  his  rattling  fell  into  stammers  and 
stutters  and  the  more  voluble  he  sought  to  be  the  more 
incoherent  his  utterance  became,  and  all  the  while  the 
changeless  face  opposite  showed  itself  fitfully  through 
drifting  volumes  of  smoke,  quiet,  watchful,  seemingly 
wholly  uninterested,  wholly  unamused.  At  last  Master 
Morford's  feeble  wits  surrendered  wholly  to  the  fumes 
within  him  and  without  him  and  he  was  for  dropping  on 
to  the  table  in  a  sodden  stupor.  But  he  had  with  him  a 
careful  companion  that  would  permit  of  no  such  folly.  He 
37 


THE   O'FLYNN 

was  firmly  lifted  from  the  table,  firmly  supported  on  his 
feet,  firmly  propelled  toward  an  opened  door.  Nothing  in 
the  world,  so  the  voice  of  his  guardian  assured  him,  would 
be  better  for  his  condition  than  a  couple  of  gulps  of  night 
air. 

Master  Morford,  with  those  words  drumming  in  his  ears, 
.staggered  out  into  the  quiet  of  the  night,  staggered  a  little 
way  down  the  quiet  of  the  street,  staggered  a  little  further 
into  the  loneliness  of  the  country  lane  all  sweet  almost  to 
sickliness  with  the  dew-drenched  perfume  of  the  June 
flowers,  and  there,  as  Master  Morford,  a  little  sobered  by 
the  coolness  of  the  sweet  air,  began  to  find  his  speech  again 
and  to  renew  to  his  quiet  companion  his  confidences  of  the 
glorious  future  before  him,  an  unseen  hand  was  lifted. 
There  was  a  gleam  of  something  bright  across  the  night 
and  in  that  instant  Master  Morford's  intoxication  and 
Master  Morford's  ambition  came  forever  to  an  end. 

Many  days  after  a  hedger  and  ditcher  plying  his  trade 
came  across  a  body  lying  in  a  deserted  field  and  imper- 
fectly covered  by  hastily  gathered  branches  from  the  ad- 
joining trees.  The  body  was  already  in  a  state  of  decom- 
position; nobody  in  the  neighborhood  was  missing;  the 
times  were  wild  and  inquiries  seemed  superfluous.  When 
the  unknown  corpse  was  buried  with  such  hasty  rites  as 
the  local  parson  found  leisure  to  administrate,  a  traveller, 
that  called  himself  by  the  name  of  Peter  Morford  and  that 
carried  letters  of  introduction  from  the  landlord  of  the 
Bishop's  Head,  in  the  Minories,  was  already  many  days 
advanced  on  his  journey  to  Dublin. 


AN    ADVENTURE    ON    THE    ROAD 

T^HE  O'Flynn's  meditations  and  reflections  were  sud- 
1  denly  disturbed  like  the  pleasant  stillness  of  the  morn- 
ing by  the  sharp  report  of  a  pistol-shot.  The  sound  seemed 
to  come  from  no  great  distance  and  it  instantly  stimulated 
Flynn  to  an  alacrity  that  was  curiously  in  contrast  with  his 
previous  manner  of  indifferent  strolling.  Although  he  was 
somewhat  cumberously  equipped  for  running  with  his  high 
boots  and  his  long  and  flapping  coat,  he  made  his  way 
along  the  road  at  a  pace  that  many  a  younger  and  less 
heavily  accoutred  man  might  have  envied,  and  as  he  ran 
he  was  spurred  to  new  efforts  by  the  faint  sound  of  voices 
in  altercation  carried  to  him  by  the  breeze. 

The  road  he  followed  turned  off,  perhaps  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  ahead,  sharply  to  the  left.  On  turning  this  corner, 
Flynn  saw  what  had  happened,  saw,  perhaps,  in  some  de- 
gree what  he  had  expected  to  see.  The  coach  that  had 
passed  him  but  a  little  while  ago  was  partially  in  the  ditch, 
behind  it  one  servant,  with  a  very  pale  face  and  with  very 
uncertain  fingers,  was  doing  his  best  to  bind  up  the 
wounded  arm  of  his  fellow.  On  the  box  the  coachman,  as 
pale  as  his  crimson  jowl  permitted,  was,  or  affected  to  be, 
doing  his  utmost  to  restrain  the  startled  and  struggling 
horses.  By  the  open  carriage  door  stood  the  young  lady 
4  39 


THE    O'FLYNN 

of  Flynn's  dreams,  looking  a  little  angry  but  not  at  all 
alarmed,  holding  a  pistol  in  her  hand.  Opposite  to  her  on 
a  big  horse  sat  a  man  whose  face  was  hidden  by  a  half 
mask  and  who  was  in  the  act,  when  Flynn  arrived  within 
seeing  distance,  of  returning  his  discharged  pistol  to  the 
holster.  The  man  was  saying  something  to  which  the 
woman  replied.  What  the  words  were  Flynn  was  unable 
to  hear.  Coming  as  he  came,  neither  man  nor  woman 
saw  nor  heard  him,  and  before  Flynn  could  call  out  the 
girl  had  lifted  her  pistol  and  fired  steadily  enough  at  her 
opponent.  Flynn  was  not,  perhaps,  altogether  surprised 
to  find  that  she  missed  her  mark,  and  in  another  moment 
the  fellow  had  swung  himself  off  his  horse  and  had  got  the 
girl  by  the  wrists,  squeezing  them  till  she  was  compelled  to 
drop  her  weapon.  As  he  did  so  he  called  to  the  girl  in  a 
voice  which  now  Flynn  could  hear  very  well,  and  which 
he  knew  to  carry  an  English  accent,  that  he  would  do  her 
no  hurt  if  she  were  quiet,  but  that  he  must  have  what  she 
carried.  But  even  as  the  man  spoke  thus,  and  even  as  the 
pistol  fell  from  the  girl's  fingers  Flynn  had  joined  the  battle 
and  flung  himself  upon  the  assailant,  who  immediately  re- 
leased the  girl  to  deal  with  his  new  adversary.  The  grip 
of  Flynn's  right  hand  was  upon  the  fellow's  throat,  slowly 
squeezing  the  breath  out  of  him,  and  Flynn's  left  hand  was 
busy  in  preventing  his  enemy  from  getting  at  the  pistol  he 
sought  for  from  his  belt.  So  they  struggled  for  a  few 
seconds,  and  while  they  struggled  the  young  lady,  with 
admirable  composure,  picked  up  the  fallen  pistol  and,  go- 
ing to  the  carriage,  proceeded  to  load  and  prime  it  again 
as  coolly  as  if  such  things  as  these  were  of  daily  occurrence 
with  her. 

Flynn's  antagonist  was  a  powerful  man  and  he  struggled 
40 


AN   ADVENTURE   ON   THE   ROAD 

hard,  but  there  were  few  men  as  powerful  as  Flynn  and 
none  that  Flynn  had  ever  encountered  with  anything  like 
the  gripping  power  of  Flynn's  fingers.  In  a  few  seconds 
all  that  was  visible  of  the  man's  countenance  under  the 
mask  was  of  a  disagreeable  blue  color.  Then  Flynn,  tak- 
ing the  pistol  from  the  relaxing  fingers,  fetched  him  a  tap 
under  the  left  ear  which  knocked  all  consciousness  out  of 
him.  Flynn  left  him  a  huddled  heap  in  the  roadway  and 
turned  to  salute  the  lady,  whose  composure  in  rearming 
herself  he  vastly  admired. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  raising  his  ragged  hat  with  the  gal- 
lantry of  an  Amadis,  "I  fear  I  owe  you  some  apology  for 
interfering  in  a  business  which  you  were  evidently  per- 
fectly capable  of  managing  for  yourself." 

The  young  lady  laughed.  "I  am  not  so  sure  of  that," 
she  said,  "as  I  was  five  minutes  ago.  I  thought  I  was  all 
right  with  that  pistol  in  my  hand  and  him  an  easy  mark 
on  horseback,  for  I  am  a  good  shot,  I  would  have  you 
know,  and  you  must  not  take  this  day's  blunder  as  a  test 
of  my  skill.  But  there,  I  don't  know  how  I  missed  him, 
and  I  think  it  might  have  gone  badly  with  me  but  for  your 
appearance,  for  the  most  of  my  men  were  of  little  service." 

By  this  time  the  two  footmen  had  come  forward;  he  that 
was  wounded,  he  that  had  made  the  only  attempt  to  de- 
fend his  mistress,  dangled  an  arm  that  could  be  of  little 
further  immediate  use.  Flynn  saw  that  his  wound  was 
bandaged  in  proper  military  fashion  and  then,  with  the  aid 
of  the  other  footman  and  the  coachman,  he  got  the  car- 
riage out  of  the  ditch  and  squarely  planted  on  the  highroad 
again. 

Now,  while  they  were  thus  engaged  the  highwayman, 
that  had  lain  for  a  while  very  quiet  on  the  road  and  wholly 
41 


THE   O'FLYNN 

unheeded  by  Flynn,  came  of  a  sudden  to  his  senses  again, 
and,  seeing  how  busy  his  enemies  were,  took  advantage  of 
their  business  to  make  his  escape.  His  horse,  that  had 
shown  no  alarm  at  the  recent  scrimmage,  was  peacefully 
nibbling  grass  at  a  little  distance  off.  The  highwayman 
rapidly  scrambled  to  his  feet,  ran  to  his  steed,  sprang  into 
the  saddle  and  was  off  before  Flynn  could  make  any  at- 
tempt to  delay  him.  As  he  vaulted  into  his  seat  his  mask 
swung  loose  for  a  moment  and  gave  Flynn  the  barest 
glimpse  of  a  smooth,  expressionless  face.  But  in  an  in- 
stant the  highwayman  had  adjusted  his  vizard  again;  in 
another  instant  he  was  thundering  along  the  road  as 
fast  as  his  horse  could  carry  him  and  was  soon  out  of 
sight. 

Flynn,  careless  of  the  fellow's  fate,  took  advantage  of  his 
resuscitation  to  insist  on  escorting  the  young  lady  to  her 
destination.  At  first  she  protested,  assuring  him  that  there 
was  no  further  cause  for  alarm,  but  Flynn  was  persistent 
and  carried  his  point.  He  was  permitted  to  ride  by  the 
young  lady's  side  in  the  coach;  he  was  permitted  to  learn 
the  young  lady's  name.  She  was  Benedetta,  daughter  of 
Lord  Mountmichael,  the  English  Irishman  who  owned  the 
big  Norman  castle  that  Flynn  remembered  so  well  in  his 
boyhood.  To  Mountmichael  then  Flynn  journeyed  as 
happy  as  if  he  had  been  promoted  to  a  command  of  irregu- 
lar cavalry,  rejoicing  in  himself  and  the  sunlight  and  the 
rough  country  road  beneath  him,  finding  everything  under 
the  sky  delightful  because  a  bright  girl's  face  smiled  on 
him  by  his  side. 

What  they  talked  of  Flynn  could  scarcely  remember 
when  it  was  over.     It  sufficed  that  they  talked,  or  that  she 
talked,  and  Flynn  would  have  wished  with  all  his  heart 
42 


AN   ADVENTURE   ON   THE   ROAD 

that  the  journey  had  been,  not  to  Mountmichael,  but  to 
Jerusalem  at  the  shortest. 

However,  they  reached  the  outskirts  of  Mountmichael 
soon  enough  and  there  the  Lady  Benedetta  was  all  for  hav- 
ing O'Flynn  to  come  in  and  meet  her  father  and  partake 
of  their  hospitality.  But  Flynn,  with  an  eye  to  his  dirty 
coat  and  his  shabby  boots,  was  resolute  in  refusal.  He 
would  pay  his  respects  later,  he  promised;  for  the  moment 
he  had  pressing  business  which  compelled  him  to  push  on. 
He  was  thinking  to  himself  as  he  spoke  thus  of  the  visit  he 
would  pay  to  Mountmichael  and  the  fine  clothes  he  would 
wear,  and  the  dashing  appearance  he  would  cut,  which 
would,  he  hoped,  obliterate  the  recollection  of  his  present 
ragged  appearance.  So  he  saluted  the  lady  very  pro- 
foundly and  the  coach  rumbled  through  the  gates  of  the 
park  and  Flynn  watched  it  out  of  sight,  and  then  turned 
on  his  heel  and  made  his  way  briskly  by  roads  unchanged 
from  their  old  familiarity  in  the  direction  of  the  dwelling 
of  his  sires. 

That  dwelling  he  would  behold  in  a  few  minutes;  when 
he  had  topped  that  little  crest  of  hill  he  would  see  before 
him  the  old  place.  He  pictured  it  to  himself  as  he  had 
seen  it  last,  comfortable  and  solid  and  populous,  a  human 
hive  of  guests  and  servants,  a  place  where  a  rude  plenty 
was  always  dispensed  and  the  air  was  genially  heavy  with 
the  odors  of  wines  and  meats  and  the  fumes  of  perpetual 
punch.  That  was  what  he  thought  to  see  again  as  he 
forced  his  pace  to  the  top  of  the  incline.  What  he  saw  was 
a  strangely  desolate  and  dilapidated  building,  hideously 
unlike  the  picture  he  had  been  forming  in  his  mind.  The 
walls  were  blackened  in  places  by  the  ravages  of  a  fire  that 
had  done  much  to  throw  the  northern  part  of  the  building 
43 


THE  O'FLYNN 

into  ruin,  but  save  for  these  marks  on  the  blackened  ma- 
sonry no  other  sign  of  the  existence  of  fire  came  from  the 
apparently  abandoned  pile.  No  spirals  of  kindly  smoke 
hinted  to  the  returned  traveller  that  the  habitation,  if  habi- 
tation it  could  still  be  called,  contained  a  hearth  and  was 
prepared  to  afford  any  kind  of  welcome. 

With  a  strange  amazement  and  despair  in  his  heart, 
Flynn  hurried  forward  and  shouted  as  he  sped  in  the  hope 
of  attracting  the  attention  of  the  occupants  of  the  castle, 
for  even  in  that  instant  of  bitter  disillusion  he  could  not 
quite  banish  his  long  fond  belief  in  the  presence  of  the 
jovial  troop  of  servants  he  remembered  in  his  youth.  For 
a  while  no  answer  was  given  to  his  vehement  "hulloa!" 
but  at  length  when  he  was  within  a  few  yards  of  the  main 
door,  which  lay  open,  a  whimsical  figure  appeared  upon  the 
threshold.  This  was  an  old  man  wretchedly  clad  in  an 
ancient  suit  of  faded  homespun,  who  stared  for  a  moment 
stupidly  at  the  advancing  figure.  Then,  as  Flynn  halted 
in  front  of  him,  the  old  man  lifted  up  a  pair  of  grimy  hands 
to  heaven  and  exclaimed  in  a  trembling  voice:  "Lord  be 
praised!  It's  the  young  master." 

The  gentleman  in  the  Arabian  Nights,  that  on  a  memo- 
rable occasion  shattered  the  day  dream  of  magnificent  vo- 
luptuousness by  overturning  his  basket  of  glass,  was 
scarcely  more  astounded  by  the  contrast  between  the  king- 
dom he  had  builded  in  his  dreams  and  the  shattered  frag- 
ments of  that  kingdom  which  lay  about  his  feet,  than  was 
the  O'Flynn  when,  standing  before  the  ruined  walls  of  his 
ancestral  home,  he  learned  from  the  lips  of  his  ancient 
retainer  the  tragedy  of  its  fall.  In  lieu  of  the  comfortable 
inheritance  he  had  looked  forward  to,  of  the  habitable  man- 
sion in  which  he  was  to  dispense  a  generous,  if  not  too 
44 


AN   ADVENTURE   ON   THE   ROAD 

lavish,  hospitality,  stern  necessity  offered  him  nothing  more 
than  a  huddle  of  stone  walls  very  imperfectly  proof  against 
the  inclemencies  of  the  weather — a  larder  so  lean  that  it 
might  almost  be  regarded  as  non-existent,  vacant  ward- 
robes, and  an  absolutely  empty  cellar. 

How  these  misfortunes  had  come  to  pass  for  the  moment 
failed  to  touch  Flynn's  imagination.  The  hard,  abiding, 
and  inexorable  fact  remained,  that  he,  in  his  ragged  uni- 
form and  shabby  boots,  was  almost  too  well  dressed  and 
well  endowed  a  gentleman  for  the  lordship  of  the  squalid 
castle  which  his  approaching  fancy  had  gilded  with  all  the 
gold  and  the  jewels  of  Aladdin's  palace.  He  whistled  a 
marching  air  thoughtfully  as  he  looked  at  his  ragged  do- 
mestic, who  eyed  him  furtively  through  a  shock  of  russet 
hair  with  a  look  in  which  love  and  admiration  and  awe 
were  whimsically  blended.  It  was  plain  that  to  this  poor 
creature  the  dingy  Austrian  uniform  was  a  fairly  magnifi- 
cent garment  and  that  a  man  who  came  to  the  doors  of 
Castle  Famine,  for  so  it  seemed  the  place  was  called  in  the 
neighborhood,  in  so  handsome  a  habit  was  a  gentleman  to 
be  regarded  with  reverence,  even  if  he  did  not  carry  the 
almost  sacred  title  of  O'FIynn. 

While  Flynn  was  thus  musing  bitterly  on  the  jests  of  the 
jade  Fortune  who  had  brought  him  across  the  breadth  of 
Europe  in  pursuit  of  the  glittering  bubble  that  had  now 
burst  before  him,  two  other  figures  came  slowly  onto  the 
scene  from  round  the  corner  of  the  dismantled  keep.  One 
was  a  tallish  fellow  in  a  bottle-green  coat  of  respectable 
antiquity  that  needed  more  care  than  its  owner  bestowed 
upon  it.  The  other  was  a  shortish,  thick-set  fellow  in  a 
rusty-brown  surtout.  The  two  men,  who  were  both  smok- 
ing pipes,  came  to  a  halt  and  stared  with  astonishment  at 
45 


THE   O'FLYNN 

the  stranger  who  stood  by  the  doorway,  then,  hastily  lay- 
ing down  their  pipes  upon  a  convenient  window -ledge,  they 
hurried  forward  with  peremptory  demands  to  O'Flynn  to 
name  himself  and  his  business. 

O'Flynn  turned  to  his  henchman.  "Who  are  these 
gentlemen  ?"  he  asked. 

The  old  man  threw  up  his  hands  with  a  wail  of  despair. 
"Heaven  forgive  us,"  he  cried,  "it  is  no  fault  of  mine. 
Sure  these  are  the  bailiffs." 

At  the  utterance  of  a  word  always  ominous  in  the  ears 
of  an  Irish  country  -  gentleman,  O'Flynn  turned  to  the 
two  men  who  were  now  standing  quite  close  to  him  and 
very  sternly  demanded  their  business.  The  men,  flushed 
with  the  insolence  of  their  little  office,  replied  in  a  manner 
that  was  vastly  displeasing  to  Flynn.  They  flourished  a 
writ  in  his  face  and  informed  him  in  a  kind  of  chorus  that 
he  was  no  longer  the  master  in  his  own  house.  For  the 
moment  Flynn  forgot  what  that  house  and  the  master  of 
it  meant.  His  old  affection  for  the  place,  his  old  memories 
of  it  rekindled  in  a  rage,  and  in  another  instant  he  had 
taken  the  pair  of  bailiffs  by  the  scruffs  of  their  necks,  a 
bailiff  to  each  hand,  and  was  hammering  their  heads  to- 
gether with  a  vehemence  and  a  vigor  that  afforded  him  a 
temporary  satisfaction  it  was  far  from  giving  to  his  aston- 
ished victims.  Then  suddenly  Flynn's  sense  of  humor  pre- 
vailed over  Flynn's  sense  of  indignation  and,  releasing  the 
two  men  as  vehemently  as  he  had  seized  them,  he  gave 
each  of  them  a  push  which  sent  them  squatting  on  the 
stones  of  the  court-yard,  and,  resting  his  palms  on  his 
hips,  he  laughed  loud  and  long  at  the  situation  in  which  he 
found  himself. 


VI 

CASTLE   FAMINE 

THAT  gaunt  portion  of  the  habitable  earth  which 
was  known  as  the  banqueting  -  hall  of  O'Flynn 
castle  was  perhaps  as  cheerless  a  place  of  human  resi- 
dence as  was  known,  even  in  the  desolated  Ireland  of  the 
time.  It  had  been  once,  undoubtedly,  a  spacious  and 
well-furnished  apartment,  but  time,  neglect,  and  indiffer- 
ence alike  had  worked  their  ways  upon  it  until  it  became 
its  present  hideous  mockery  of  former  splendor.  When 
Desmond  O'Flynn  was  young,  his  native  penuriousness 
denied  to  an  already  dilapidated  mansion  those  cares 
and  sustentations  which  would  have  kept  its  youth  green. 
Phelim  O'Flynn,  when  the  place  passed  at  last  under  the 
command  of  his  itching  fingers,  cared  not  a  curse  for  the 
way  he  was  housed,  so  long  as  he  had  enough  to  eat  and 
enough  to  drink,  and  a  drunkard  and  a  Bona  Roba  to 
keep  him  company.  When  toward  the  end  of  his  ill- 
spent  life  all  means  of  raising  the  wind  seemed  denied  him, 
his  sodden  fancy  was  stirred  to  a  last  flicker  of  vitality 
by  a  sudden  belief,  or  half  belief,  in  the  country-side 
legend  of  the  buried  treasure  of  his  father.  His  efforts, 
crude,  clumsy,  and  stupid,  to  discover  the  whereabouts 
of  this  fairy  gold  only  added  to  the  tragic  degradation  of 
the  dwelling  which  had  been  the  house  and  the  pride  of 
47 


THE   O'FLYNN 

so  many  generations  of  O'Flynns.  With  crowbar  and 
pickaxe  in  hand  the  degenerate  O'Flynn  would  stagger 
from  room  to  room  of  his  ancient  mansion,  boring  a  hole 
here,  and  breaking  through  a  partition  there,  and  rooting 
up  a  stone  elsewhere,  till  the  traces  of  his  vandalism  were 
apparent  in  every  room  of  the  insulted  dwelling-place.  On 
one  occasion,  in  the  course  of  his  drunken  investigations, 
he  contrived  to  set  fire  to  the  castle  and  the  conflagration 
was  with  difficulty  stopped  after  lasting  injury  had  been 
done  to  the  old  place. 

Since  Phelim's  death,  and  the  descent  from  Dublin 
of  the  brace  of  bailiffs  upon  the  ruined  residence,  the  old 
man,  Conachor  O'Rourke,  that  was  left  the  sole  guardian 
of  the  ancient  pile,  had  not  the  heart — even  if  he  had 
possessed  the  power — to  arrest  the  march  of  destiny.  Per- 
haps, because  it  was  the  largest  room  in  the  castle,  the 
banqueting  -  hall  seemed  most  to  show  the  injuries  of 
Fate.  The  great  door,  through  which  generations  of 
O'Flynns  had  passed  to  the  outer  world,  and  through 
which  the  outer  world  had  advanced  to  taste  the  hos- 
pitality of  generations  of  O'Flynns,  creaked  boltless  and 
lockless  upon  its  uneasy  hinges.  The  huge  fireplace,  that 
had  so  often  been  the  centre  for  gatherings  of  the  wit  and 
chivalry  of  Munster,  yawned  now,  an  empty  mouth,  long 
denied  through  the  severest  pinch  of  winter  the  consolation 
of  a  leaping  flame.  The  windows  that  had  once  been 
splendid  with  stained-glass  carrying  the  escutcheons  of  the 
ancient  Milesian  families  that  had  been  privileged  to  inter- 
marry with  the  O'Flynns,  were  now  for  the  most  part 
dismally  lacking  in  glass,  and  the  ragged  wisps  of  the 
lead  settings  swayed  lugubriously  in  the  abandoned  spaces. 
One  window  had  not  merely  lost  all  the  glazing  and 
48 


CASTLE   FAMINE 

framing  that  had  served  to  make  it  a  shelter  against  rough 
weather,  but  had  been,  besides,  so  damaged  by  the  fire 
that  was  Phelim's  handiwork  that  it  grinned,  a  huge 
fissure,  in  the  side  of  the  wall,  and  the  young  trees  from 
without  thrust  their  branches  through  the  aperture  and 
adorned  with  the  tender  green  of  their  leafage  a  room 
that  sadly  needed  adornment.  Where  costly  curtains 
once  had  been  suspended,  now  filthy  conglomerations  of 
cobweb  hung.  From  their  blackened  frames  the  few 
family  portraits,  that  still  disgraced  the  walls,  drooped 
ominously  to  their  doom.  The  hangings,  that  had  been 
meant  to  hide  the  masonry  of  the  walls,  swung  dismally 
in  tattered  strips  that  made  the  nakedness,  they  pretended 
to  conceal,  more  flagrant  and  more  shameful.  A  lusty 
struggle  of  grass  competed  successfully  with  the  attenuated 
fibres  of  a  rotting  carpet  to  conceal  the  stonework  of  the 
floor,  and  everywhere  dust  and  dirt  displayed  themselves 
in  triumphant  assertion  of  the  progress  of  decay. 

The  only  cheerful  thing  in  the  cheerless  apartment  was 
a  rude  whiskey-still  that  had  been  installed  on  the  spot 
where  the  semi-regal  chair  of  the  head  of  the  house  had 
been  wont  to  stand,  and  the  only  occupant  of  the  desolate 
room  was  the  attendant  spirit  upon  this  still.  This  was 
a  man  who,  if  his  figure  was  suddenly  viewed  from  behind, 
might  almost  have  passed  for  a  boy,  so  slender  was  his 
form  and  so  erect  his  carriage;  but  when  observed  from 
the  front  might,  to  judge  by  the  wrinkles  that  lined  his 
face  and  the  elf  locks  that  fringed  his  forehead,  be  of  a 
greater  age  than  the  Judaic  patriarchs.  This  strange 
creature,  who  seemed  to  be  half  gnome,  half  leprechaun, 
was  seated  by  the  strange  engine  of  his  distillations  watch- 
ing with  an  intent  eye  the  process,  while  at  the  same  time 
49 


THE   O'FLYNN 

he  scraped  an  ancient  fiddle  and  teased  it  into  utterance 
of  a  plaintive  Irish  air.  It  was  one  of  those  strange  Celtic 
tunes  to  whose  intense  suggestion  of  pathos  the  irony  of 
mankind  has  been  pleased  to  associate  words  of  a  gro- 
tesque good-humor. 

As  the  elfin  creature  continued  his  fiddling,  muttering 
the  while  to  himself  the  words  of  his  ditty  beneath  his 
breath,  the  echo  of  his  song  was  caught  up  outside  by  two 
dissimilar  voices,  and  in  another  moment  the  peace  of 
the  distiller  was  disturbed  by  the  entry  of  a  pair  of  men. 
The  new-comers,  similar  only  in  the  fact  that  each  carried 
a  fishing-rod,  were  whimsically  dissimilar  in  all  beside. 
One  was  tall  and  gaunt  with  something  of  the  air  of  a 
weather-beaten  seaman,  and  this  one  was  habited  in  a 
faded  blue  coat  incompletely  sprinkled  with  brass  buttons 
that  gave  him  something  of  the  appearance  of  a  fairly 
successful  ostler  or  an  unsuccessful  highwayman.  The 
other,  that  was  as  unusually  short  as  his  companion  was 
unusually  tall,  carried  a  cinnamon  -  colored  coat  that 
covered  him  almost  from  his  ears  to  his  heels,  and  this, 
with  the  quaint  sharpness  of  the  features  that  peered  out 
of  the  monstrous  collar  of  the  garment,  gave  him  a  curious 
appearance  of  some  strange  and  misshapen  bird.  As 
they  came  into  the  room  the  old  man,  that  was  busy 
distilling,  looked  up  from  his  work  and  questioned  the 
intruders. 

"Have  you  got  anything?"  he  asked. 

The  one  in  the  blue  coat  shook  his  head  lugubriously. 
"Devil  a  thing,"  he  said,  and  deposited  his  fishing-rod  in 
the  corner  with  the  air  of  a  man  that,  having  tried  for 
greatness  and  failed  to  achieve  it,  is  content  to  repose  on 
his  own  sense  of  small  superiority. 
5° 


CASTLE   FAMINE 

The  little  bird-like  man  in  the  brown  habit  was  less 
philosophical.  He  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  hall  and 
attempted  to  explain  in  a  thin,  high,  chirpy  voice,  that 
would  more  than  ever  have  suggested  a  bird-like  associa- 
tion to  any  intelligent  ornithologist.  "You  see,"  he  said, 
"you  see,  Mr.  O'Rourke,  it's  this  way.  If  you  happen  to 
be  a  city-bred  bailiff  you're  liker  than  not  to  make  a  poor 
sportsman  when  first  you  try  your  hand  with  a  line  and 
fly." 

The  blue-coated  gentleman,  whose  name  was  Gosling, 
seemed  now  to  consider  that  his  companion  had  occupied 
the  rostrum  of  eloquence  long  enough.  He  interposed, 
and  his  interposition  was  quite  in  the  grand  manner.  As 
he  spoke,  he  extended  a  condescending  hand  in  the  direc- 
tion of  his  dwarfish  colleague,  as  if  he  intended  thereby 
to  convey  a  sympathy  with  his  friend's  excuses  and,  at  the 
same  time,  a  justification  of  himself. 

"There  never  was,  if  I  may  say  so,  a  genteeler  service  of 
a  writ  in  all  Dublin  than  mine.  I  tell  you  it's  hard  to 
say  which  was  the  more  pleased  with  my  gentlemanly 
carriage,  my  employers  or  my  victims — but  there,  to  nab 
a  debtor  is  one  thing,  to  land  a  salmon  another." 

The  little  distiller  turned  round  upon  his  stool  and  faced 
the  bailiffs  with  a  snarl  upon  his  face  that  recalled  an 
angry  cat.  "All  very  true,  gentlemen,"  he  snapped,  "all 
very  true.  But  unless  such  truths  can  fill  your  empty 
bellies,  you  are  likely  to  go  fasting  the  day." 

The  brown  bird  of  a  bailiff  piped  dismally.  "Is  there 
nothing  in  the  damned  place  at  all  ?"  he  asked. 

O'Rourke  shook  his  head.  "Whist!  don't  be  using  bad 
names  to  the  ould  place.  Sure  there's  some  bread  I  made 
myself— and  there's  whiskey  I  made  myself,  and  there's 
51 


THE   O'FLYNN 

many  a  saint  now  in  heaven  that  had  no  better  fare  for 
his  daily  supper." 

For  a  moment  silence  fell  upon  the  dejected  company, 
then  the  little  man  in  the  brown  coat  looked  at  the  big 
man  in  the  blue  coat  and  chirped  an  interrogation  that  was 
meant  to  be  jocular  and  that  seemed  to  fail  dismally  in 
the  effort.  "I  don't  think  I  was  meant  to  be  a  saint,  was 
I,  Gosling?"  he  asked. 

The  man  in  the  blue  coat  shook  his  weather-beaten 
head.  "Our  trade  was  never  framed  for  the  shaping  of 
saints,  bedad!"  he  asserted,  and  the  brown  bird  nodded 
wisely  to  his  words. 

But  their  conversation  was  rudely  interrupted  by  the 
fury  of  O'Rourke.  Rising  on  his  thin  legs  he  screamed 
shrilly  at  them:  "What  should  the  likes  of  you  know  about 
saints,  you  murdering,  yellow-bellied  Protestants.  Heaven 
forbids  us  to  think  of  your  ugly  skulls  with  halos  on  them." 

Something  in  the  vehemence  of  the  passion  of  the  little 
man  seemed  to  impress  the  Dublin  bailiffs;  that  so  small 
a  body  could  contain  so  great  a  rage,  had  in  it  something 
of  the  surprise  that  is  suggested  by  the  cataclysms  of 
Nature — an  earthquake,  a  water-spout,  or  a  tornado. 

The  little  man  of  the  brown  coat  protested.  "Easy, 
now,  Mr.  O'Rourke,  easy —  Remember  we're  your 
guests."  He  meant  to  be  conciliatory,  but  his  conciliation 
was  wasted  upon  the  angry  O'Rourke. 

"No  guests  of  mine,  by  the  Holy,"  he  protested,  "nor 
of  my  poor  master,  neither.  You  can  go  back  to  Dublin 
this  instant  minute  and  never  a  tear  from  either  of  us  over 
the  dirty  backs  of  ye." 

Bailiff  Gosling  of  the  blue  coat  waved  large  red  hands 
of  deprecation.  "You  know  very  well,"  he  pleaded,  "we 
52 


CASTLE   FAMINE 

can't  go  back  to  Dublin.  Here  we  have  got  to  stick  till 
our  little  claim  on  the  estate  is  paid." 

Coin  put  in  his  word  to  enforce  his  comrade.  "When 
we  know  who  they  are  to  be  paid  to,  Scotch  James  or 
Dutch  William,"  he  said. 

The  old  man  shook  his  head  aggressively.  "Then,  God 
help  you,"  he  growled,  "you'll  be  sitting  here  till  the 
Doom-Bell  rings,  if  you  are  allowed  to  live  so  long.  Who 
is  going  to  pay  the  debt  I  ask  you,  for  all  it's  only  ten 
pounds  ?  Is  it  the  young  master  ?" 

The  legal  gentleman  in  the  blue  coat  waggled  a  solemn 
forefinger  at  O'Rourke  and  uttered  a  pronouncement 
with  a  judicial  gravity  founded  upon  the  manner  of  a 
distinguished  Dublin  judge.  "He  that  inherits  property, 
inherits  the  responsibility  thereof.  That's  sound  law,  my 
lad." 

O'Rourke  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  plied  the  bellows 
industriously,  bringing  the  pale  glow  of  the  brazier  to  a 
lively  blaze. 

"It  may  be  sound  law  in  the  Four  Courts,"  he  said, 
"but  it's  the  devil's  own  nonsense  in  Castle  Famine. 
Sure,  the  young  master  hasn't  a  sixpence,  nor  a  shilling 
neither.  Poor  gossoon,  to  come  back  here  all  the  way 
from  them  foreign  parts  with  the  smell  of  an  inheritance 
in  his  nose,  and  only  to  find  these  four  empty  walls  and 
you  two  blackguards  in  possession." 

The  little  man  in  the  brown  coat  chuckled  softly.  "I'm 
not  likely  to  forget  our  first  meeting,"  he  said,  with  a  grin 
in  the  direction  of  his  brother  bailiff,  and  his  brother 
bailiff  answered  with  a  nod. 

"That's  true  for  you,"  O'Rourke  observed  sarcastically. 

Gosling  took  up  the  tale  that  Coin's  remark  suggested. 
53 


THE   O'FLYNN 

"Why,  he  took  the  pair  of  us  by  the  two  scruffs  of  us  and 
rattled  our  heads  together.  Sure,  here  is  a  bad  end  to  a 
good  bailiff,  says  I  to  myself,  as  well  as  I  could  for  his 
fingers  on  my  throttle — and  then  of  a  sudden  he  let  me 
go,  and  began  to  laugh  at  his  own  anger;  and  he  gave  me 
a  push  and  I  squatted  on  the  floor." 

Coin  tapped  his  chest.  "Same  here,"  he  agreed. 
"Then  he  began  to  talk.  Lord,  how  he  talked." 

O'Rourke  abandoned  the  bellows  and  rubbed  his  grimy 
hands  together  approvingly.  "The  master  has  got  the 
gift  of  the  gab,  as  good  as  another,  or  better,  maybe, 
please  the  Lord." 

He  turned  to  busy  himself  about  some  process  of  dis- 
tillation, but  was  arrested  by  a  sudden  question  from 
Gosling. 

"Where  is  he  now,  anyhow?" 

O'Rourke  turned  upon  his  questioner  with  the  snap  of 
an  angry  dog.  "Sure,  it's  no  business  for  a  pair  of  mangy 
process-servers  to  be  asking  how  the  O'Flynn  is  passing 
his  time.  Ah,  poor  boy,  sure  a  turn  of  fortune  may  come 
any  day." 

Gosling  eyed  the  little  man  curiously.  "What's  that  ?" 
he  asked;  and  Coin  questioned,  "How?" 

Pleased  by  the  interest  he  had  aroused,  O'Rourke 
condescended  to  explain.  "Did  you  never  hear  of  the 
buried  treasure  of  the  O'Flynns  ?" 

Gosling  shook  his  head,  so  did  Coin. 

"Never,"  Gosling  said  emphatically,  and  Coin  echoed 
him,  "Never." 

O'Rourke  held  up  his  grimy  hands  in  protesting  in- 
dignation. "Musha,  the  likes  of  you  for  ignoramuses. 
Sure,  it's  known  and  believed,  and  fancied  by  half  the 
54 


CASTLE   FAMINE 

countryside  that  the  ould  lord,  that  was  the  young  master's 
grandfather,  hid  away  a  fortune  somewhere  snugly  within 
these  same  four  walls." 

The  bailiffs  looked  at  each  other.  Gosling  rubbed  his 
stubbly  chin,  thoughtfully.  Coin  questioned,  "Why  did 
he  so  ?" 

O'Rourke  deigned  to  explain.  "He  was  always  the 
fanciful  man  and  I  think  he  took  a  kind  of  dislike  to  his 
son,  my  young  master's  father  no  less,  and  small  blame 
to  him,  maybe,  for  that  same.  Anyways,  he  left  word  in 
his  will  that  there  was  a  treasure  hidden  in  the  castle  for 
him  to  have  that  should  find  it,  and  that  was  about  all  he 
left,  barring  the  ould  place  and  the  few  acres." 

This  time  it  was  Gosling's  turn  to  question.  "And 
did  no  one  find  the  treasure  ?" 

O'Rourke  shook  his  head  sadly.  "Sorra  a  one.  My 
late  master  lived  upon  credit,  as  a  gentleman  should, 
and  the  young  master  quarrelled  with  him  when  he  was 
no  more  than  a  gossoon  and  went  off  to  the  wars  abroad, 
and  that  was  the  last  I  saw  of  him  for  twenty  long 
years." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The  bailiffs  were  evi- 
dently estimating,  with  minds  trained  in  the  forms  and 
processes  of  law,  the  credibility  of  O'Rourke's  story. 

Then  Coin  inquired  thoughtfully,  "Why  did  he  come 
back  ?" 

O'Rourke  sighed.  "When  the  ould  man  died  last 
year,  mad  drunk,  as  he  had  lived,  I  wrote  a  line  to  the 
poor  boy  to  an  address  he  had  left  me  in  Paris,  telling 
him  that  he  was  now  the  O'Flynn  and  the  heir  to  the 
estate.  And  the  letter  found  him  after  a  while,  somewhere 
in  the  low  countries,  and  back  he  travelled  to  find  himself 
5  55 


THE   O'FLYNN 

the  lord  of  this  ruin.  Sure  he  was  a  bit  down  in  the  mouth 
at  first,  but  then  he  remembered  the  ould  talk  about  this 
treasure,  and  ever  since  he's  been  prowling  about  and 
looking  for  it  in  the  most  unlikely  places.  Holy  Virgin, 
what's  that  ?" 


VII 

THE    KING    OF   THE    CASTLE 

EVEN  as  the  old  man  was  speaking,  a  strange  rumbling 
noise  in  the  great  chimney  had  distracted  the  atten- 
tion of  his  listeners  and  now  attracted  his  own.  Suddenly 
a  shower  of  bricks  accompanied  by  a  cloud  of  dust  came 
rattling  down  the  chimney  on  to  the  vacant  hearth,  and 
were  immediately  followed  by  the  figure  of  a  man.  He 
lay  for  a  moment  sprawling  among  the  rubbish  and  then 
rapidly  raised  himself  to  a  sitting  posture,  and  faced  the 
astonished  company.  The  new-comer,  who  had  chosen  so 
singular  a  method  of  entering  the  apartment,  was  a  broad- 
shouldered,  well-built  man  of  some  six  feet  high,  and  of 
perhaps  some  five  or  six  and  thirty  years  of  age.  Long 
exposure  to  weather  had  given  to  his  countenance  some- 
thing of  that  settled  aspect  which  tends  to  defy  the  lapse 
of  time,  and  leave  the  spectator  uncertain  whether  he  is 
beholding  a  young  man  or  an  elder.  The  man  was  clad  in 
what  might  once  have  been  a  smart  uniform,  but  now  the 
white  coat,  with  its  blue  facings,  was  so  worn  and  shabby 
that  even  a  fall  down  a  chimney  could  scarcely  accentuate 
its  degradation;  and  the  boots  and  breeches  were  as 
dilapidated  as  the  coat.  But  the  wearer  of  these  an- 
cient garments  seemed  either  to  be  unaware  of,  or 
indifferent  to,  their  condition;  and  no  less  unaware  of, 
57 


THE   O'FLYNN 

or  indifferent  to,  the  eccentricity  of  his  manner  of  en- 
trance. 

He  surveyed  the  amazed  trio  for  a  while  with  the  smile 
that  was  characteristic  of  his  features  intensified  to  an  em- 
phatic grin,  and  his  bright,  blue  eyes  danced  with  amuse- 
ment. After  a  second  or  so,  however,  he  assumed  an  air 
of  gravity  and,  scrambling  away  from  the  canopy  of  the 
chimney,  got  to  his  feet  with  as  much  dignity  as  he  could 
muster. 

"Good-morning,"  he  said,  cheerfully. 

O'Rourke  rushed  forward  to  attend  upon  his  master. 
"Lord  have  mercy!  Is  it  yourself?"  he  cried,  as  he  busied 
himself  in  dusting  with  his  hands  the  lappets  of  his  mas- 
ter's coat. 

Flynn  nodded.  "It  is.  Who  else?  What  are  you 
staring  at  ?  Mayn't  a  man  enter  his  own  house  by  his  own 
chimney  if  it  pleases  him,  without  unnecessary  comment  ?" 

O'Rourke's  curiosity  defied  etiquette.  "But  what  were 
you  doing  in  the  chimney  at  all  at  all  ?"  he  asked. 

But  for  a  moment  the  O'Flynn  left  his  curiosity  unsatis- 
fied. He  pointed  to  where  his  hat  lay  on  the  floor  with  an 
air  as  stately  as  if  that  ragged  head-covering  had  been  the 
helmet  of  a  hero  or  the  crown  of  a  king.  "My  hat,"  he 
observed,  dryly,  and  Coin  and  Gosling,  pushing  forward 
at  the  same  time  in  competition  for  the  honor  to  secure  it, 
knocked  their  heads  together  in  the  attempt.  Coin,  re- 
covering the  sooner  from  the  shock  of  the  collision,  pre- 
sented the  hat  to  its  owner,  who  flung  it  on  to  his  head  with 
a  swaggering  air: 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  splendidly,  and  then  conde- 
scended to  answer  O'Rourke's  inquiries. 

"Why,  I  was  making  a  tour  of  inspection  of  the  premises, 
58 


THE   KING   OF   THE   CASTLE 

looking  for  that  same  treasure  they  talk  of.  In  the  room 
beyond  I  found  a  mighty  big  hole  in  the  wall,  and,  as  I  was 
peering  into  it,  I'm  damned  if  what  I  was  standing  on 
didn't  give  way  beneath  me.  I  thought  I  was  killed  en- 
tirely, but,  heaven  be  praised,  there  was  only  a  floor  to 
fall.  What  is  there  for  breakfast  ?" 

O'Rourke  shrugged  his  shoulders.     "The  usual." 

"What's  that  ?"  Flynn  asked. 

"Nothing,"  O'Rourke  answered,  laconically. 

Flynn  turned  reproachfully  to  the  two  bailiffs  who  stood 
watching  him  with  unconcealed  admiration.  "Didn't  I  bid 
you  go  fishing  ?"  he  asked. 

Coin  hastened  to  answer  him  apologetically.  "You 
did,  and  we  obeyed  you,  but  never  a  fish  could  we 
tickle." 

Flynn  sighed  heavily  and  stretched  his  arms.  "It's  be- 
ginning to  wish  I  hadn't  come  back  I'd  be  —  if  it  wasn't 
for  one  thing." 

"What's  that,  O'Flynn  ?"  the  eternally  curious  O'Rourke 
questioned. 

"Never  you  mind,"  Flynn  reproved  him.  Then,  turn- 
ing, he  addressed  the  bailiffs.  "Lord  save  us,  gentlemen, 
it's  twenty  years  since  I  saw  the  ould  place,  when  I  was  no 
more  than  a  lanky-leggy  bit  of  a  lad.  I  didn't  like  my 
father,  heaven  forgive  me — and  my  father  didn't  like  me, 
heaven  forgive  him — so  I  took  French  leave  to  France  and 
I've  followed  the  wars  ever  since.  But  when  I  heard  my 
father  was  dead  I  came  back  to  claim  my  inheritance  and 
live  like  a  gentleman  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  Lord!  Castle 
Famine!" 

He  called  attention  with  a  magnificent  sweep  of  his  right 
arm  to  the  squalid  environment  in  which  the  company 
59 


THE  O'FLYNN 

stood.  Marius  among  the  ruins  of  Carthage  was  never 
more  nobly  heroic. 

Gosling,  practical  bailiff  that  he  was,  put  a  pertinent 
query.  "Why  do  you  stop  here  if  you  like  the  place  so 
little?" 

O'Rourke  turned  upon  the  bailiff  in  a  fury  of  indigna- 
tion. "Whist!  Is  it  for  the  likes  of  you  to  question  the 
young  master?" 

With  another  splendid  gesture  Flynn  restrained  the 
wrath  of  his  dependent  and  condescended  to  satisfy  the 
servant  of  the  law.  "Faith,  it's  a  question  I'd  find  it  hard 
to  answer  with  any  show  of  reason.  I  hunger  and  I  thirst 
and  I  go  ill-clad,  while  it  is  but  crossing  the  seas  again  to 
find  service  and  a  full  belly  and  a  new  coat.  And  yet  I 
don't  want  to  be  crossing  the  seas  again,  just  yet," 

Coin  gave  a  little  dry,  cackling  laugh  and  rubbed  his 
hands  together  with  the  air  of  a  man  that  knows  more  of 
the  world  than  most  others.  "So  help  me,"  he  said,  "I 
am  a  town-man  and  know  the  bloods.  I'll  stake  my  repu- 
tation as  a  fashionable  bailiff  that  there  is  a  lady  in  the 
case." 

O'Rourke  turned  upon  him  now  as  he  had  turned  upon 
Gosling  a  moment  before  with  the  same  vehement  show  of 
irritation.  "Sure,  it's  crazy  nonsense  you're  talking." 

And  once  again  the  O'Flynn  sought  to  modify  his  ser- 
vant's wrath  with  a  gesture.  "It's  crazy  nonsense 
enough,"  he  admitted,  "but  it  happens  to  be  true." 

Again  O'Rourke's  hands  were  uplifted  in  the  pathetic 
gesture  of  astonishment  and  despair  which  was  habitual  to 
him  when  brought  face  to  face  with  the  whimsicalities  of 
his  master.  "Heaven  help  us!  Who  is  it?" 

The  O'Flynn  seated  himself  comfortably  at  the  table 
60 


THE   KING   OF   THE   CASTLE 

after  having  first  made  sure,  by  careful  examination,  that 
the  chair  in  which  he  proposed  to  seat  himself  was  of  a 
solidity  worthy  of  the  confidence  to  be  reposed  in  it.  Then 
he  stretched  his  legs  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  likes  to  tell 
a  story  and  believes  that  he  can  tell  it  well,  and  began  to 
talk: 

"There  was  a  young  lady  aboard  the  boat  with  me. 
Sure  she  travelled  grand,  the  captain's  cabin  and  all  that, 
and  she  kept  her  cabin  for  a  bit  because  of  the  dirty 
weather.  But  she  came  on  deck  in  a  flap  of  calm,  and  I 
saw  her,  and,  oh!  she  was  good  to  see,  and  I  spoke  with  her 
as  fellow-passengers  may — and,  oh!  but  she  was  good  to 
hear." 

He  paused  for  a  moment  absorbed  in  rapturous  recollec- 
tions and  Gosling  took  advantage  of  the  pause  to  punctu- 
ate it  with  a  question.  "Who  was  she,  maybe — ?" 

Flynn  waved  a  large  hand  at  him.  "  That's  neither  here 
nor  there.  She  landed  at  Cork  as  I  did,  and  there  was  a 
fine  coach  to  whisk  her  away,  like  Cinderella's  in  the  story, 
with  coachman  and  footmen  and  all.  Away  she  went,  and 
I  gaping  after  her  with  my  heart  in  my  mouth  it  was  so 
crazy  to  go  with  her." 

He  sighed  deeply  and  allowed  his  chin  for  a  moment  to 
rest  in  depression  upon  the  dingy  piece  of  linen  which 
sought  to  pass  muster  for  a  cravat. 

Coin,  who  was  interested  in  the  story,  shook  his  memory. 
"What  did  you  do  then  ?"  he  asked. 

With  another  sigh  Flynn  raised  his  head  and  resumed 
his  narrative.  "For  obvious  reasons  it  was  not  convenient 
for  me  to  linger  in  the  city  of  Cork  where  the  inns  cost 
money  even  to  an  Irishman  returning  from  foreign  parts. 
For  obvious  reasons  it  was  not  convenient  for  me  to  take 
61 


THE   O'FLYNN 

coach  or  post  to  my  ancestral  domain.  Shanks'  mare  was 
a  good-enough  mount  for  an  old  soldier  that  has  tramped 
all  over  Europe.  I  had  nothing  to  carry  but  my  clothes 
on  my  back  and  the  sword  by  my  side,  so  I  travelled  light." 

While  Flynn  had  been  talking  his  henchman  had  been 
busy  in  the  concoction  of  a  bowl  of  punch.  Having  com- 
pleted the  process  to  his  satisfaction,  as  he  made  sure  by 
taking  a  sip  of  the  brew,  he  now  ladled  out  a  steaming 
mug  of  the  mixture  and  carried  it  to  his  master.  "Take  a 
drink,  O'Flynn,"  he  suggested. 

Flynn  met  the  suggestion  cheerfully.     "  I  will,"  he  said. 

His  large  hand  closed  upon  the  cup,  lifted  it  to  his  lips, 
and  tossed  its  contents  down  his  throat.  He  smacked  his 
lips  approvingly  and  handed  back  the  empty  vessel  to 
O'Rourke.  O'Rourke  replenished  it  and  placed  it  on  the 
table  hard  by  his  master's  elbow.  He  then  filled  a  mug 
apiece  for  the  two  bailiffs  and  himself,  and  the  three  men 
sat  sipping  together  and  waiting  for  the  O'Flynn  to  resume 
his  story.  This  the  O'Flynn,  cheered  by  his  drink,  pro- 
ceeded to  do. 

"Well,  it  was  none  such  a  bad  day  for  walking.  There 
had  been  rain,  but  the  rain  was  over,  leaving  the  road  none 
too  muddy  and  the  leaves  clean.  The  sun  was  bright  and 
my  spirits  were  high,  for  I  thought,  sirs,  I  was  coming  home 
to  peace  and  plenty  at  last.  Peace  and  plenty — Castle 
Famine!" 

He  sighed  again  and  seemed  inclined  to  drop  into  a  de- 
spondent reverie,  but  O'Rourke,  who  loved  a  story  like  all 
his  kind  and  who  resented  these  interruptions,  spurred 
him  from  his  silence.  "Never  mind  that  now.  Get  on 
with  your  story." 

"Well,"  Flynn  resumed,  "after  I  had  left  the  city  it  was 
62 


THE   KING   OF   THE   CASTLE 

a  lonely  land  I  was  walking  through — as  bare  of  folk  as  a 
piece  of  Poland  after  a  Russian  raid.  I  had  tramped  about 
ten  miles  Irish  and  was  beginning  to  yearn  for  the  hunk  of 
bread  in  my  pocket,  when  I  was  called  from  carnal  pas- 
sions and  appetites  by  the  sound  of  brawling  voices  beyond 
the  turn  of  the  road.  There  was  a  woman's  shrill  voice 
in  the  quarrel,  so  I  swung  my  legs  to  the  arena." 

"What  did  you  find?"  O'Rourke  asked,  eagerly,  his 
fingers  twitching  and  his  eyes  dancing  with  sympathetic 
excitement. 

Flynn  went  on.  "Why,  there  was  a  coach  on  one  side 
in  a  ditch  and  a  servant  beneath  nursing  a  broken  arm. 
My  pretty  lady  stood  in  the  roadway  with  a  pistol  in  her 
hand,  and  opposite  to  her  on  a  big  horse  was  a  fellow  in  a 
laced  coat  whose  face  was  hidden  by  a  half  mask.  As  I 
came  up,  and  before  they  saw  me,  Miss  Pretty  fired  and 
missed,  and  then  my  boy  on  the  horse  was  off  it  and  had 
her  by  the  wrists.  Not  for  long,  though — I  think  you  may 
have  noticed  that  I  have  a  kind  of  grip  in  my  fingers." 

He  had  addressed  his  last  remark  especially  to  the  bail- 
iffs, and  the  big  man  in  the  blue  coat  took  it  upon  himself 
to  answer  it.  "  I  have  that  same,"  he  admitted,  and  rubbed 
his  neck  pensively. 

The  O'Flynn  continued.  "Lord!  How  surprised  my 
friend  was  when  he  felt  my  thumb  upon  his  windpipe.  He 
let  go  of  my  lady  at  once  and  he  made  a  good  fight  for  it, 
I  will  say  that  for  him,  trying  to  get  me  off  and  trying  to 
get  at  his  pistols.  Miss  Pretty,  as  cool  as  you  please,  took 
advantage  of  our  little  altercation  to  load  and  prime  again, 
in  readiness  for  the  worst,  bless  her  heart!  But  nothing 
worse  happened." 

"What  did  happen?"  Coin  asked. 
63 


THE   O'FLYNN 

Flynn  explained.  "Well,  I  choked  my  land-pirate  with 
the  one  hand  till  he  was  quite  blue  and  nigh  silly,  and, 
with  the  other,  I  took  his  pistol  from  him  and  fetched  him 
a  clip  under  the  ear  that  did  his  business." 

He  gave  a  dramatic  pause  which  showed  that  his  belief 
in  his  powers  as  a  narrator  were  not  unjustified. 

"Were  you  after  killing  him?"  O'Rourke  asked  in  a 
thrilling  whisper. 

Flynn  laughed.  "Devil  a  bit.  He  lay  on  the  road  like 
a  log,  and  I  impounded  his  pistols  and  troubled  no  more 
about  him,  having  other  things  to  think  about." 

Coin  looked  sly  and  spoke  slyly.  "The  young  lady, 
for  instance  ?"  and  the  least  suggestion  of  a  wink  disturbed 
the  legal  gravity  of  his  countenance. 

A  noble  enthusiasm  came  into  Flynn's  voice  as  he  con- 
tinued: "Ah,  the  young  lady,  the  dear  young  lady.  She 
thanked  me  as  if  I  had  been  a  paladin,  and  between  us 
we  shook  the  coachman  into  courage  and  did  our  best 
for  the  servant's  damaged  arm.  And  while  we  were  thus 
busy,  my  rogue  in  the  road  came  to  his  senses  and  crawled 
to  his  horse  that  had  stood  quite  patient  near  him,  the 
faithful  beast,  and  nipped  into  the  saddle  and  was  off  be- 
fore we  could  wink.  Then  Miss  Pretty  got  into  the  car- 
riage again  and  I  made  bold  to  ask  leave  to  join  her  and 
rode  at  her  side  for  the  rest  of  the  journey.  I  wish  we  had 
been  journeying  to  Jerusalem,  but  it  was  no  farther  than 
Mountmichael  yonder." 

O'Rourke  snapped  his  fingers  for  joy.  "Was  it  the 
Lady  Benedetta,  then?"  he  said,  triumphantly  asserting 
rather  than  questioning. 

Flynn  made  a  gesture  of  comic  despair.  "There,  I 
have  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag,  and  the  prettiest,  most 
64 


THE   KING  OF   THE  CASTLE 

whimsical,  skittishest  kitten  it  is.  She  wanted  me  to  go 
into  the  castle  and  know  her  father,  but  I  was  in  neither 
trim  nor  temper  for  meeting  with  English  gentility.  But 
she  made  me  promise  to  visit  her  one  day." 

"And  will  you  ?"  Gosling  asked. 

Flynn  nodded.  "For  sure  I  will,  if  only  I  can  find  that 
treasure.  Maybe  I  will  whether  I  find  it  or  not.  In  the  mean 
time  I've  been  writing  the  most  elegant  verses  in  her  honor. 
Well,  well,  I'll  be  troubling  you  for  a  little  more  punch." 

Coin  nimbly  took  charge  of  Flynn's  cup,  nimbly  re- 
plenished it,  nimbly  restored  it  to  Flynn's  extended  fingers. 
"It's  a  pleasure,"  he  said. 

Gosling  took  a  deep  pull  at  his  own  mug  and  observed 
meditatively,  "Punch  is  a  fine  thing." 

O'Flynn  caught  him  up  at  the  word  in  a  flame  of 
enthusiasm.  "Punch  is  a  grand  thing,"  he  declared. 
"Do  you  lose  your  temper?  A  bowl  of  punch  will  set 
you  right  again.  Do  you  lose  a  fortune  ?  A  bowl  of 
punch  will  console  you.  Do  you  lose  a  battle  ?  A  bowl  of 
punch  will  give  you  the  wit  to  win  another.  Do  you  lose 
a  kingdom  ?  A  bowl  of  punch  will  make  you  the  equal 
of  a  king.  Oh,  honest  usquebaugh,  mellow  sugar,  and 
yellow  lemon,  what  a  heaven-sent  medley  you  make! 
Between  you  and  me  and  the  doorstep,  I  think  when  the 
ould  gods  were  tossing  their  nectar  it  was  hot  whiskey 
punch  they  were  drinking." 

Gosling  clapped  his  hands.  "Nobly  thought,"  he  declared. 

Coin  agreed  with  him.     "And  nobly  spoken,"  he  added. 

Flynn  seemed  pleased  at  the  approval  of  his  companions. 
"Fill  up  again,"  he  cried;  "if  we  can't  eat,  let  us  thank 
the  powers  that  we  can  drink.  Here's  a  health  to  the 
pretty  lady." 

65 


VIII 

THE    PRETTY    LADY 

NOW  even  as  the  O'Flynn  lifted  his  glass  he  saw  and 
wondered  at  an  expression  of  sudden  surprise  and 
sudden  admiration  that  conquered  the  faces  of  the  three 
men  who  stood  before  him,  each  with  a  mug  of  punch  in 
his  lifted  hand.  O'Flynn  was  standing  with  his  back  to 
the  gap  in  the  wall  of  the  ruined  hall,  and  so  standing  he 
was  unaware  that  a  figure  had  come  for  a  moment  into 
the  frame  of  its  open  space,  shutting  out  something  of  the 
sunlight  that  flooded  from  the  smiling  country  outside, 
but  giving,  in  exchange,  the  gift  of  a  gracious  presence  that 
was  better  than  sunlight.  Stirred  by  the  expression  on  the 
faces  of  his  companions  O'Flynn,  with  the  lifted  glass  still 
in  his  hand,  swung  on  his  heels — with  military  swiftness 
and  military  precision — and  saw  standing  in  the  opening, 
parting  the  leaves  that  shaded  it,  a  rare  and  gracious  figure 
— the  figure  of  a  girl  of  perhaps  twenty,  clad  in  a  green 
riding-dress,  a  girl  whose  fair  face  was  framed  with  golden 
curls,  a  girl  who  smiled  at  him  frankly  with  the  smile 
of  old  acquaintanceship  as  she  asked  with  a  dainty  mixture 
of  audacity  and  temerity,  "May  I  come  -in  ?" 

O'Rourke  clawed  eagerly  in  the  direction  of  his  master. 
"Sure,  it's  Lady  Benedetta  herself,"  he  whispered,  telling 
his  master  what  that  master  already  knew  with  a  sense  of 
66 


THE   PRETTY   LADY 

joy  which  even  his  nimble  wit  was  barely  capable  of  trans- 
lating into  instant  speech. 

All  he  could  find  to  say  was  the  lady's  name,  "Lady 
Benedetta!"  And  he  said  it  with  a  kind  of  gasp  which 
was  far  from  heroic  or  romantic,  but  was  certainly  as 
joyous  and  reverential  as  any  inarticulate  sound  could 
conveniently  be. 

Lady  Benedetta  seemed  neither  surprised  nor  amused 
by  the  commotion  she  caused  among  the  occupants  of  the 
hall.  Addressing  herself  with  grave  serenity  to  the  master 
of  the  castle,  she  said :  "  I  gave  you  a  good  week's  grace, 
Chevalier.  And  then  as  you  wouldn't  come  to  see  me, 
I  took  my  maidenly  modesty  a-horseback  and  rode  over 
to  see  you.  Well,  aren't  you  glad  to  see  me  ?" 

Just  for  once  the  O'Flynn's  presence  of  mind,  a  pres- 
ence of  mind  which  he  had  hitherto  relied  upon  as  being 
imperturbable,  deserted  him.  He  stared,  gasped,  and  at 
last  stammered  some  disconnected  words  in  which,  "Of 
course,  glad,  delighted,"  might  perhaps  have  been  heard 
and  appreciated  by  the  lady  to  whom  they  were  addressed. 
She  at  least  seemed  wholly  self-possessed,  very  sweetly 
mistress  of  the  situation  and  not  in  the  least  degree  em- 
barrassed by  the  embarrassment  of  her  host  or  the  broadly 
expressed  admiration  on  the  faces  of  the  rest  of  the  company. 

"Well,"  she  said,  gaily,  "you  have  got  to  entertain  me, 
for  my  horse  must  have  a  rest.  I  stabled  her  before  I 
came  in.  Pray  present  your  friends." 

As  she  said  this  she  turned  a  pleasant  smile  in  the  direc- 
tion of  each  of  the  two  whimsical  limbs  of  the  law  who 
were  standing  side  by  side  and  eying  her  with  flagrant 
approbation. 

The  lady's  suggestion  added  to  the  unusual  embarrass- 
67 


THE   O'FLYNN 

ment  of  the  O'Flynn.  He  glared  angrily  from  the  big 
man  in  the  blue  coat  to  the  little  man  in  the  brown  coat, 
wished  them  both  at  the  devil,  and  then  with  a  desperate 
rallying  of  his  senses  resolved  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad 
situation.  He  tweaked  Gosling  by  the  shoulder  and 
jerked  him  forward. 

"Certainly!"  he  said,  "this  is  my  friend,  Sir  George 
Gosling/' 

The  blue-coated  bailiff  made  an  exaggerated  bow. 
"Your  health  and  song,  ma'am,"  he  said,  and  would  have 
said  more  but  that  O'Flynn  interrupted  him  by  taking 
little  Coin  by  his  brown  collar  and  bringing  him  in  front 
of  his  companion. 

"This,"  he  said,  gravely,  "is  my  Lord  Coin." 

Coin,  delighted  at  the  nobility  thus  fantastically  accorded 
him,  gave  a  funny  little  duck  of  his  funny  little  head, 
lifted  an  erect  forefinger  to  the  level  of  his  eyebrows  and 
murmured,  "  Delighted." 

He  was  evidently .  seeking  further  utterance,  laboring 
phrases,  but  his  efforts  at  social  intercourse  with  the  great 
were  rudely  interrupted  by  the  O'Flynn,  who,  standing 
in  front  of  the  pair,  began  to  shepherd  them  out  of  the 
room  with  a  savageness  suggestive  rather  of  the  wolf, 
than  of  the  sheep-dog.  "Well,"  he  said  aloud,  "I  am 
sorry  you  must  be  leaving,  but  I  know  what  inveterate 
sportsmen  you  are." 

But  while  Coin  protested,  "Oh,  we  are  not  so  inveter- 
ate as  all  that,"  and  Gosling  insisted,  "There's  no  hurry," 
the  voice  of  the  O'Flynn  rumbled  thunderously  in  their 
ears  heavy  with  menace,  "Yes,  there  is.  I  wouldn't  keep 
you  from  your  pleasures  for  the  world.  If  you  don't  clear 
out  I'll  wring  your  necks." 

68 


THE   PRETTY   LADY 

There  was  such  a  look  of  menace  on  the  countenance  of 
the  O'Flynn  that  the  pair  of  bailiffs,  in  whose  memory 
his  rough  handling  still  lived  very  vividly,  hastened  to 
take  the  hint.  With  many  awkward  gestures  of  saluta- 
tion, Coin  and  Gosling  shambled  from  the  room  and 
Benedetta  and  Flynn  were  left  together  with  O'Rourke. 

For  a  moment  neither  spoke.  Benedetta's  quick 
glances  had  swiftly  taken  in  the  strange  condition  of  her 
surroundings,  the  ruined  hall,  the  ragged  hangings,  the 
broken  windows,  the  dominant  air  of  squalor  and  poverty. 
Now  they  rested  with  an  expression  of  kindly  curiosity 
upon  her  host,  who  for  his  part  had  never  ceased  to  regard 
her  since  her  entrance  with  an  expression  of  frank  adora- 
tion. Benedetta  laughed. 

"What  odd  creatures  your  friends  seem  to  be,"  she  said, 
and  she  laughed  again  as  she  spoke,  and  Flynn  joined  in 
her  laughter  with  a  great  show  of  enthusiasm. 

"You  have  got  the  right  word  of  it,"  he  said,  and 
hastened  to  invent  explanations.  "They  are  odd,  devilish 
odd.  That's  their  great  charm,  to  my  mind.  Now,  you 
would  never  believe  it  to  look  at  them,  that  those  two 
fellows  are  noted  bloods  in  Dublin,  famous  lady-killers." 

Benedetta  laughed  again.  "Indeed  I  never  should. 
But  I  am  not  sorry  they  have  gone,  for  my  visit  is  to  you, 
Chevalier.  And  if  you  will  give  me  something  to  eat  I 
shall  be  grateful  for  I  am  as  hungry  as  a  hunter." 

If  his  beautiful  visitor  had  asked  the  O'Flynn  for  the 
roc's  egg,  or  the  Holy  Grail,  she  could  hardly  have  caused 
him  more  embarrassment. 

And  he  echoed  her  words,  "Something  to  eat,"  with  an 
air  of  pathos  that  something  amazed  the  lady. 

"Something  to  eat,"  echoed  O'Rourke,  standing  by  the 
69 


THE   O'FLYNN 

fireplace.     He  sadly  clasped  his  hands  together  and  mur- 
mured, "Oh,  Lord!" 

Unaware  of  the  agitation  she  was  causing,  Benedetta 
went  on:  "I  said  to  myself  this  morning,  if  the  Chevalier 
is  so  distant  it  is  my  part  to  be  forward.  I  will  ride  over 
to  visit  him  and  make  him  invite  me  to  dinner." 

By  this  time  Flynn  had  recovered  a  little  from  the  stag- 
gering effect  of  his  pretty  lady's  request  He  took  himself, 
as  it  were,  by  the  collar  of  his  coat  and  shook  himself  into 
an  air  of  cheerful  satisfaction  as  he  made  Benedetta  an  ex- 
travagant bow.  "Madam,  I  am  more  than  honored,"  he 
said,  "and  more  than  fortunate  in  having  my  larder  ex- 
cellently plenished." 

He  turned  to  his  faithful  dependent,  who  stood  a  diminu- 
tive image  of  despair  by  the  hearth,  and  addressed  him 
with  the  air  of  one  that  has  troops  of  servants  at  command. 
"Conachor,  what  shall  we  offer  Lady  Benedetta — what 
about  that  haunch  of  venison  ?" 

Something  in  the  glance  of  the  O'Flynn's  eye  seemed 
to  inspire  a  lively  intelligence  in  his  henchman.  The  little 
man  moved  forward,  rubbing  his  hands  together  briskly 
while  his  brain  hummed  with  subterfuges.  "Ah,  sure," 
he  began  in  a  voice  of  good-humored  protest,  "  ah,  sure  your 
honor  has  forgotten  that  you  gave  that  same  haunch  to  his 
Riverence,  to  make  his  Sunday  dinner." 

Flynn  slapped  his  forehead  with  a  well-feigned  air  of 
surprise.  "True,  true,  so  I  did.  Well,  well,  let  us  make 
the  best  of  it,  and  bring  in  the  game  pasty." 

Again  O'Rourke  caught,  as  it  were,  the  ball  his  master 
tossed  him  and  flung  it  back  again.  "Is  it  the  game  pasty 
you're  after?"  he  asked,  querulously.  "Sure,  we  finished 
it  last  night  at  supper," 

70 


THE    PRETTY    LADY 

Flynn  gave  a  sigh  of  regret.  "  Devil  fly  away  with  my 
memory,  so  we  did,"  he  declared.  He  turned  to  his  visitor 
in  his  grandest  manner.  "The  best  game  pasty,  Lady 
Benedetta — but  there,  there,  if  it's  gone  there's  no  use  in 
praising  it.  I  am  afraid  we  must  fall  back  upon  the  baron 
of  beef." 

"If your  honor  does,"  O'Rourke  said,  dryly,  "there'll  be 
nothing  to  break  your  fall.  Sure,  the  hounds  got  into  the 
larder  this  morning  and  made  a  meal  of  it  before  I  could 
scare  them." 

By  this  time  Benedetta  began  to  understand  something 
of  the  spirit  of  the  little  comedy  that  was  being  played  out 
for  her  benefit,  and  it  was  with  a  perfectly  staid  face  of 
entire  belief  in  the  protestations  of  master  and  servant 
that  she  now  listened  as  Flynn  said  to  her: 

"Really,  Lady  Benedetta,  you  find  our  hospitality  at  a 
positive  loss."  He  turned  with  a  rallying  glance  to  his 
servant.  "Come,  Conachor,  come — what  can  we  set  be- 
fore her  ladyship  ?" 

O'Rourke  scratched  his  head  thoughtfully  and  answered 
after  a  moment's  meditation:  "Sure,  we've  had  no  fish 
since  Friday,  and  I  distributed,  in  charity,  the  remains  of 
the  sheep  that  we  had  roasted  whole  on  Sunday.  There 
was  a  fine  knuckle  of  ham,  to  be  sure,  but  more  by  token 
it  was  so  fine  that  I  and  the  other  servants  finished  it  in  the 
servants'  hall." 

Benedetta's  face  betrayed  no  suspicion  of  the  reality  of 
O'Rourke's  statement.  "Anything  will  do  for  me,"  she 
protested,  blithely.  "I  have  a  simple  stomach.'* 

By  this  time  O'Rourke  was  standing  between  the  pair 
and  glancing  from  one  to  the  other  cunningly.  "  But  I'll 
tell  you  what  I  can  do,"  he  said;  "there's  an  honorable 

6  71 


THE   O'FLYNN 

corner  of  a    cheese  and   the    better   half  of  a    decent 
loaf-" 

Benedetta  clapped  her  hands  together  pleasantly.  "Ex- 
cellent, excellent,"  she  cried.  "Nothing  better  than  bread 
and  cheese." 

Flynn  eyed  her  dubiously,  glad  to  think  she  was  deceived 
by  the  devices  of  O'Rourke,  but  wondering  if  she  really 
could  be.  He  made  one  last  effort  to  sustain  the  dignity 
of  the  host.  "Bread  and  cheese,"  he  said.  "Good! 
With  a  glass  of  wine  to  help  it.  Shall  we  say  a  bottle  of  the 
ould  Burgundy,  Conachor  ?" 

O'Rourke  emitted  a  little  creaking  laughter.  "Sure," 
he  said,  "your  honor  may  say  what  he  pleases,  being  the 
O'Flynn,  but  your  honor  must  be  funning  when  you  talk 
of  the  ould  Burgundy.  Sure,  'tis  myself  that  forgot  to  turn 
the  tap  in  the  barrel  the  last  time  of  drawing,  and  now  we 
must  wait  till  the  new  pipes  come  over  from  France,  which 
won't  be  till  next  week  or  later.  But  if  her  ladyship 
wouldn't  be  above  tasting  a  thimbleful  of  punch,  made  as 
only  myself  knows  how  to  make  it — " 

Flynn  turned  to  Benedetta  with  sudden  enthusiasm. 
"I  must  confess  that  Conachor  brews  a  most  formidable 
punch." 

"Punch  let  it  be,"  Benedetta  agreed.  "Why,  spring 
water  would  serve  my  turn — and  bread  and  cheese  make 
the  best  of  eating  to  a  mortal  so  sharp  set  as  I  be." 

Flynn  made  her  a  profound  reverence.  "Your  ladyship 
is  most  amiable  to  condone  our  shortcomings."  He  turned 
to  O'Rourke.  "Dispatch,  Conachor,  dispatch,"  he  or- 
dered, and  his  ingenious  vassal  vanished  from  the  room. 
He  turned  again  to  Benedetta.  "Will  your  ladyship  be 
seated  ?" 

72 


THE   PRETTY   LADY 

Benedetta  made  him  a  pretty  courtesy.  "I  thank  you, 
Chevalier,"  she  said,  and  seated  herself  in  the  chair  of 
whose  solidity  O'Flynn  was  confident. 

O'Flynn  produced  another  from  a  corner  of  the  room, 
and  after  testing  it  cautiously,  trusted  himself  to  its 
capacity  for  its  task,  and  seated  himself  in  front  of  his 
visitor. 

For  a  moment  again  man  and  maid  looked  at  each  other 
in  silence  and  then  Benedetta  began,  "And  now,  Chevalier, 
tell  me  why  you  have  never  come  over  to  pay  your  respects." 

"Your  ladyship  must  excuse  me,"  Flynn  replied,  with 
a  royal  air  of  occupation.  "The  cares  of  a  great  estate, 
the  multiplicity  of  duties,  the  world  of  importunate  tasks — " 

Benedetta  shook  her  head  at  him  reproachfully.  "Chev- 
alier, Chevalier,  why  do  you  sit  here  in  ease  and  plenty, 
while  your  king  waits  for  you  in  Dublin  ?" 

Flynn's  smiling  face  lost  its  smile.  "I  beg  your  lady- 
ship's pardon,"  he  said  coldly. 

Benedetta  went  on,  "Are  you  not  aware  that  King 
James,  God  bless  him,  has  come  to  Dublin  to  make  war 
upon  the  usurper  William  ?" 

Flynn  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  have  heard  that 
James  Stuart  is  in  Dublin.  What's  that  to  me  ?  The 
Stuarts  only  remember  Ireland  when  they  are  in  trouble." 
He  spoke  with  animation. 

Benedetta  looked  at  him  reproachfully.  "James  Stuart 
is  your  king,  Chevalier,"  she  said. 

O'Flynn  protested.  "I  crave  your  ladyship's  patience. 
James  Stuart  may  be  King  of  Scotland,  might  be  King  of 
England,  but  by  your  favor,  he  is  not  King  of  Ireland. 
We  had  our  own  kings  in  the  old  days  and  may  have  them 
again  in  the  new,  please  God." 
73 


THE   O'FLYNN 

Benedetta  stared  at  him  with  wide,  astonished  eyes. 
"What  kings  are  you  talking  of?"  she  asked. 

O'Flynn's  air  of  slightly  ruffled  patriotism  now  gave 
place  to  a  rather  roguish  smile  as  of  one  that  enjoyed 
beforehand  a  surprise  for  his  companion.  He  leaned 
across  the  table  and  spoke  to  the  Lady  Benedetta  in  a 
confidential  voice,  "Did  you  mark  the  bit  of  a  boy  that 
was  here  but  now?" 

Benedetta  showed  the  surprise  that  Flynn  expected. 
"The  old  man,  your  servant?"  she  asked,  looking  at  her 
host  with  the  same  wonder. 

O'Flynn  nodded  solemnly:  "The  old  man,  my  servant," 
he  echoed,  "that  should  be  my  master  by  rights.  That 
old  man,  Lady  Benedetta,  is  the  direct  descendant  of  a 
King  of  Munster,  one  of  the  victims  of  your  country  and 
your  country's  greed." 

Lady  Benedetta  lifted  her  eyebrows  ever  so  little.  "You 
are  pleased  to  be  merry  with  me,  Chevalier,"  she  said. 

O'Flynn  looked  steadfastly  at  her  for  a  moment  and 
then  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Conachor,  Conachor,"  he  called;  "I  say,  come  here." 

Even  as  he  called,  his  little  wisp  of  a  body-servant 
entered  the  gaunt  hall  with  a  tray  in  his  hands,  on  which 
bread  and  cheese  and  a  big  jug  of  punch  were  carefully 
placed.  He  looked  at  his  master  wonderingly. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  as  he  set  down  the  tray  upon 
the  table. 

The  O'Flynn  tapped  him  lightly  on  the  shoulder. 
"Sure,  the  young  lady  wants  to  have  a  look  at  you,  not 
that  you  are  much  to  look  at,  I'm  thinking — "  As  he 
spoke  the  O'Flynn  gave  his  diminutive  retainer  a  little 
spin  with  his  finger  and  thumb  that  suggested  oscillation, 
74 


THE   PRETTY   LADY 

and,  obediently  enough,  the  little  man  revolved  in  a  circle 
for  a  couple  of  twirls  until  O'Flynn  again  tapped  him  and 
arrested  his  gyrations. 

Benedetta  leaned  across  the  table  and  addressed  the 
little  man  kindly.  "The  Chevalier  tells  me  you  are  a  king, 
Mr.  O'Rourke." 

O'Rourke  lifted  a  finger  to  his  forehead.  "I  am  that 
same,"  he  said  with  a  comic  air  of  dignity  that  nearly 
compelled  Benedetta  to  laugh. 

O'Flynn  made  himself  the  spokesman  for  his  royal 
servant.  With  a  stately  sweep  of  his  uplifted  arm  he 
harangued  Benedetta. 

"Descended  in  the  direct,  unbroken  line — as  Father 
Pat  can  prove  to  you — from  Conachor  O'Rourke,  King 
of  Munster,  called  Conachor  of  the  Red  Nose,  because, 
saving  your  presence,  he  had  the  way  with  him  of  lifting 
his  little  finger." 

Benedetta  laughed  gayly.  She  thought  the  whole  thing 
was  a  jest  of  a  somewhat  exaggerated  humor,  but  O'Rourke 
took  up  his  master's  statement  and  accentuated  it  very 
gravely:  "He  was  a  grand  man  though  I  say  it  that 
shouldn't — maybe — seeing  he  was  my  ancestor.  It's  his 
royal  tastes  I  inherit." 

Flynn  patted  the  little  man  on  the  back.  "And  mighty 
little  else,  my  poor  boy,"  he  said. 

Then  he  turned  to  his  guest,  "But  there  you  are,  Lady 
Benedetta;  this  poor  old  gossoon  by  rights  should  be  king 
here,  with  a  crown  of  gold  always  on  his  head,  and  a  jug 
of  punch  always  in  his  hands." 

O'Rourke  chuckled.  "  'Tis  I  would  be  liking  the 
same  finely,"  he  agreed,  "but  I'd  rather  have  the  punch 
than  the  crown  any  day  of  the  week,  for  the  crown  I'd 
75 


THE   O'FLYNN 

most  likely  be  pawning,  while  the  punch  I  could  always  be 
drinking." 

Benedetta  laughed  again.  She  was  finding  these  wild 
islanders  very  diverting  company. 

O'Flynn  seemed  to  think  that  the  diversion  had  gone 
far  enough.  He  gave  O'Rourke  a  little  push.,  "Well, 
now,"  he  said,  "run  away  with  you  for  all  you  are  a  king." 

And  O'Rourke  trotted  obediently  out  of  the  hall.  When 
he  was  gone  Flynn  turned  to  Benedetta. 

"There,  pretty  lady,"  he  said,  "there  is  the  king  I 
ought  to  be  serving,  and  instead  he  is  serving  me,  after  a 
manner  of  speaking." 

Benedetta,  who  had  restrained  her  laughter  in  the 
presence  of  the  little  serving  man  for  fear  of  causing  a 
dependant  pain,  now  allowed  herself  to  laugh  gallantly 
enough.  "  But  of  course  you  aren't  in  earnest,  Chevalier," 
she  protested,  "when  you  talk  in  this  way." 

O'Flynn  pretended  to  frown  at  her,  but  he  spoke  seri- 
ously enough:  "Not  in  earnest,  is  it?  And  why  not  ? 
What  are  you  doing  your  own  self  but  worshipping  a  king 
without  a  kingdom,  a  king  without  a  crown,  a  king  that 
lives  on  the  munificence  of  French  Louis  ?  Isn't  my  king 
as  good  as  that — crownless,  too,  and  landless — and  my 
servant — Heaven  help  him — to  boot  ?" 

As  he  spoke  he  handed  the  Lady  Benedetta  a  slice  of 
bread  and  a  piece  of  cheese,  and  filled  the  mug  which 
O'Rourke  had  set  for  her  with  the  punch  of  O'Rourke' s 
making.  Benedetta  nibbled  thoughtfully  at  the  bread. 

"What  a  strange  people  you  are,"  she  murmured. 

O'Flynn  protested.  "Not  so  strange  as  all  that.  The 
English,  God  bless  them  and  mend  them,  don't  under- 
stand us.  They  think  we  always  mean  what  we  say,  or 
76 


THE   PRETTY   LADY 

they  think  we  never  mean  what  we  say,  and  they  are 
wrong  both  times." 

Lady  Benedetta,  who  had  taken  a  little  sip  of  Conachor's 
brewage,  and  made  ever  so  slightly  a  wry  face  at  the 
sipping,  set  down  her  cup  and  looked  earnestly  at  the 
O'Flynn.  "I  hope,"  she  said,  "I  am  wrong  when  I 
think  you  profess  a  carelessness  for  King  James.  Why 
do  you  not  go  to  Dublin  to  serve  his  Majesty  ?" 

The  O'Flynn  slapped  his  chest  with  a  large  hand. 
"Madam,"  he  said,  "I  am  a  soldier  of  fortune.  Will  King 
James  pay  me  well  ?" 

Benedetta  raised  her  gloved  left  hand  in  protest.  "For 
shame!"  she  cried.  "His  Majesty  needs  the  money  of 
his  subjects,  the  free  service  of  his  subjects.  For  myself 
I  am  proud  to  be  able  to  serve  him." 

Flynn  showed  a  quick  interest.  "How  so,  pretty 
lady  ?"  he  asked. 

Benedetta  leaned  across  the  table  and  looked  steadily 
into  the  face  of  O'Flynn:  "I  am  going  to  Dublin  to- 
morrow," she  said.  "I  bring  the  king  money,  I  bring 
the  king  better  than  money."  She  paused  for  a  moment, 
and  then  suddenly  questioned  her  host.  "Chevalier,  do 
you  remember  that  road-thief  from  whom  you  saved  me  ?" 

O'Flynn  put  his  hand  to  his  forehead  with  the  air  of  a 
man  seeking  to  recall  some  unimportant  incident.  "I 
have,"  he  admitted,  "a  vague  recollection  of  something 
of  the  kind/' 

Benedetta  came  in  quickly  upon  his  attempted  reminis- 
cences. "I  do  not  think  it  was  my  money  he  wanted," 
she  said.  "No,  nor  even  me.  I  think  he  knew  of  certain 
jewels  I  was  carrying,  and  that  those  jewels  were  the  end 
of  the  enterprise." 

77 


THE   O'FLYNN 

O'FIynn,  seeing  that  Benedetta  was  evidently  deeply 
interested  in  the  jewels  of  which  she  spoke,  felt  that  he 
ought  to  say  something,  and  said  it. 

"What  jewels?"  he  asked. 

Benedetta  smiled,  with  a  pretty  little  air  of  importance. 
"The  Queen's  jewels.  The  great  Turkish  ruby,  the  blue 
Mogul  diamond,  and  the  Pearl  Necklace.  Each  of  them 
is  a  little  fortune  and  she  sacrifices  them  all  to  the  cause 
of  her  husband,  as  a  true  wife  should.  Three  of  her  ladies 
undertook  to  carry  the  treasure  to  Europe,  the  Pearl 
Necklace  was  my  share. 

Flynn  was  determined  to  have  his  share  in  the  conversa- 
tion, but  he  could  think  of  nothing  better  to  say  than, 
"And  'twas  the  Pearl  Necklace  this  road-thief  was  after?" 

Benedetta  nodded  wisely,  "So  I  think,  and  not  as  a 
common  thief,  but  to  keep  it  from  poor  King  James." 
She  rose  from  her  chair  as  she  spoke  with  the  air  of  one 
that  was  about  to  close  an  agreeable  interview.  "Well, 
Chevalier,  are  you  not  coming  to  Dublin  to  lend  your 
purse  and  your  sword  to  the  king  ?" 


IX 

THE  LOVE-MAKER 

O'FLYNN,  too,  Jiad  risen  to  his  feet  and  he  faced  his 
guest  gravely.  "Lady,"  he  said,  "I  cannot.  I  am 
nailed  to  my  estate.  And  if  I  wasn't,  I  belong  to  no  party. 
What  are  the  Scotchman  and  the  Dutchman  to  me  ?" 

Lady  Benedetta's  face  showed  plainly  the  indignation 
she  felt  at  hearing  the  great  cause  to  which  she  was  de- 
voted spoken  of  in  a  fashion  so  indifferent.  "  I  ask  your 
pardon,"  she  said,  rather  bitterly,  "I  thought  you  were 
a  soldier." 

O'Flynn  agreed  with  her  cheerfully.  "So  I  am,  a  sol- 
dier of  fortune.  I  have  followed  the  wars  since  so  high. 
When  I  first  went  into  action  I  was  no  more  than  sixteen. 
At  first  I  thought  I  was  frightened,  then  I  found  that  I 
wasn't,  and  I  never  have  been  frightened  since.  But  I 
fight  for  my  living,  lady,  and  not  for  a  king." 

Benedetta  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  her  blue  eyes  grew 
sombre  as  she  regarded  her  companion.  "I  am  afraid  I 
have  been  mistaken  in  you,"  she  said,  and  there  was  evi- 
dent disappointment  in  the  tone  of  her  voice. 

But  O'Flynn,  for  all  he  adored  the  lady,  was  not  pre- 
pared to  deny  his  Irish  indifference  to  the  quarrels  of  two 
alien  kings.  "Then  mend  the  error,"  he  said,  sadly, 
"Any  man  who  pays  me  I  will  serve  faithfully.  But  there 
79 


THE   O'FLYNN 

are  only  two  things  I  will  fight  for  with  my  own  hand,  for 
my  own  pleasure." 

Benedetta  raised  her  eyebrows.  "What  are  these  two 
things  ?"  she  said,  curiously. 

O'Flynn  assumed  an  attitude  of  dignified  resolve,  and 
tapped  his  chest  heroically.  "One  is  my  country,  my  Ire- 
land," he  answered. 

Benedetta  glanced  round  her  with  a  little  shiver.  She 
was  used  to  France;  she  loved  France  with  its  color  and 
its  sunshine,  and  to  her  the  mists  and  grayness  of  the 
Island  of  Saints  had  something  melancholy  in  its  beauty 
which  depressed  her.  "  Do  you  call  this  a  country  ?"  she 
asked,  with  a  faint  smile.  Then  she  questioned,  "Well, 
what  is  the  other  ?" 

O'Flynn  bowed  his  head  and  laid  his  left  hand  on  his 
heart.  "The  woman  I  might  love,"  he  said,  earnestly. 

Benedetta  smiled  at  his  earnestness  as  she  dropped  into 
her  chair  again.  She  was  willing  that  the  conversation 
might  continue  now  that  it  had  taken  this  turn  and  was 
presenting  her  eccentric  host  to  her  in  a  new  light.  "What 
a  pretty  sentiment,"  she  said.  "Are  you  a  poet,  Cheva- 
lier?" 

O'Flynn  followed  Benedetta's  example  and  seated  him- 
self before  he  answered  her  in  the  affirmative.  "  I  am,  in 
the  Gaelic.  If  I  weren't  I  should  tell  you  that  a  man's 
first  business  is  to  fight  for  himself.  As  I  am  I  tell  you  that 
a  man's  first  business  is  to  fight  for  the  woman  he  loves, 
whether  she  loves  him  or  no,  just  because  he  loves  her — 
just  because  she  means  to  him  something  that  nothing  else 
in  all  the  world  could  ever  mean.  There  is  life,  my  life, 
in  a  nutshell  for  your  pretty  teeth  to  crack." 

Lady  Benedetta  looked  at  him  curiously.  He  seemed 
80 


THE   LOVE-MAKER 

very  much  in  earnest,  and  it  was  strange  to  hear  this  shabby 
man  in  the  ragged  habiliments  discoursing  so  eloquently 
of  high  passions.  "You  talk  nimbly  of  love,"  she  said. 
"Are  you  a  master  of  love-making  ?" 

O'Flynn  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed  jollily, 
and  there  was  something  infectious  in  the  rich  sound  of 
his  laughter  that  made  Benedetta  laugh  too,  though  she 
could  not  see  any  very  immediate  reason  for  mirth.  "Was 
there  ever  an  Irishman  since  Adam,"  he  asked,  "that 
couldn't  make  love  to  a  pretty  girl  ?" 

"You  mean  you've  got  the  gift  of  tongues,"  Benedetta 
suggested.  "A  world  of  words  and  no  soul  behind  them." 

O'Flynn  caught  at  her  words  and  embroidered  on  them. 
"The  gift  of  the  gab,  the  gift  of  the  blab,"  he  cried.  "Is 
it  stars  and  roses  and  angels  and  wildfire  and  nightingales 
and  all  such  nonsense  you  think  I'd  be  discoursing  ?  Sure, 
I  could  be  as  prodigal  of  such  prettinesses  as  another,  more 
by  token  if  I  was  talking  the  Gaelic.  But  that  isn't  the 
way  I'd  make  love  to  the  girl  of  my  heart." 

Benedetta  was  now  decidedly  diverted  by  the  drolleries 
of  her  host.  She  had  known  court  lovers  and  court  poets 
in  plenty,  but  this  strange  ragamuffin  who  was  patently  a 
gentleman  for  all  his  tatters,  who  could  talk  of  love  in  so 
novel  a  fashion,  was  a  new  creature  in  her  experience. 
"Come,  O'Flynn,"  she  protested,  "you  tease  me.  What 
would  you  say  to  the  girl  of  your  heart  ?" 

O'Flynn  accepted  the  girl's  challenge  with  alacrity.  He 
drew  his  chair  a  little  nearer  to  hers,  and  as  he  spoke  there 
was  a  bantering  note  in  his  voice  that  only  faintly  veiled  his 
earnestness.  "I'd  say  to  her,  sweeting,  sure  I  know  that 
you're  made  on  the  pattern  of  our  grandam  in  paradise — 
she  that  picked  the  apple — that  it's  a  woman  you  are  and 
81 


THE   O'FLYNN 

not  a  saint,  and  that  you  eat  salt  with  your  porridge  like 
the  rest  of  infirmity." 

Benedetta,  who  had  listened  to  him  eagerly,  leaned  back 
in  her  chair  with  a  slightly  disappointed  expression.  "  This 
seems  no  prosperous  prologue,"  she  said,  and  perhaps 
would  have  said  more  had  O'Flynn  given  her  time  for 
speech,  but  he  hurried  to  the  conclusion  of  his  thoughts. 

"You're  wrong,"  he  declared,  "it  clears  the  ground 
between  man  and  maid;  sets  them  face  to  face  understand- 
ing each  other,  speaking  real  words,  hearing  real  words." 

The  big  man  with  the  blue  eyes  was  plainly  sincere  in 
his  speech.  Not  in  this  fashion  had  any  of  the  gallants  of 
France  or  England  paid  homage  to  her.  The  sweet  voice 
of  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  had  never  been  charged  with 
such  odd  meaning. 

"You  seem  mightily  in  earnest,  O'Flynn,"  she  said. 
"What  would  you  say  next  ?" 

O'Flynn  laid  one  hand  lightly  on  Benedetta's  gloved 
fingers  where  they  rested  on  the  table.  "I'd  say,  you  are 
a  woman  and  a  mortal  with  a  mortal's  share  of  faults  and 
naughtiness,  and  I  know  that  you  will  grow  old  and  gray 
in  time,  if  you  live  to  it,  and  that  you'll  die  anyway,  what- 
ever you  live  to,  which  is  not  angelic." 

Benedetta  withdrew  her  hand  from  the  gentle  pressure 
of  O'Flynn.  "  Do  you  call  this  love-making  ?"  she  asked, 
and  there  was  irony  in  her  voice  as  she  questioned. 

O'Flynn  did  not  seem  to  heed  Her  interruption.  He 
went  on  eagerly,  vehemently,  almost  fiercely,  as  if  she  had 
not  spoken. 

"  But  such  as  you  are,  the  sight  of  you  sets  me  crazy. 
I'd  rather  hear  you  talk  than  another  sing;  see' you  walk 
than  another  dance;  meet  you  frowning  than  another 
82 


THE   LOVE-MAKER 

smiling;  serve  you  cruel  than  another  kind;  woo  you  hos- 
tile than  another  pliant.  Why,  I'd  follow  where  you  beck- 
oned, though  all  the  queens  of  Christendom,  with  their 
crowns  upon  their  heads,  were  winking  me  the  other  way." 

Benedetta  clapped  her  hands  together  as  she  might 
have  clapped  them  in  a  playhouse  after  a  speech  that 
amused  her.  "Come,  this  is  better — and  yet  it  leaves  me 
cold,"  she  cried. 

O'Flynn  went  on  still  borne  on  the  full  tide  of  his  en- 
thusiasm, meaning  to  say  his  say.  "Have  you  ever  taken 
note,  *if  you're  walking  of  a  gray  morning  and  the  sun 
comes  whisking  out  and  gilds  the  causeway,  how  your 
spirit  leaps  ?  Have  you  ever  heard  a  blackbird  whistle  in 
a  tree  and  begun  to  think  thoughts  to  his  music,  thoughts 
that  you  never  thought  before,  thoughts  that  you  can't  put 
into  words,  but  that  make  you  wild  with  delight  and  wonder 
and  a  sadness  more  marvellous  than  joy  ?  That  is  how 
the  thought  of  you  makes  me  feel." 

The  suddenness  of  the  personal  note  at  the  end  of 
O'Flynn's  speech  brought  a  flush  of  color  into  Benedetta's 
cheeks.  She  lowered  her  eyelids  for  a  moment,  then  rais- 
ing them  again  looked  steadily  at  him  and  rose  to  her  feet. 

"You  mean,"  she  said,  quietly,  "the  thought  of  the 
woman  you  love." 

O'Flynn  made  a  gesture  of  deprecation,  his  voice  was 
still  insistent.  "Of  course,"  he  said,  "that  is  what  I 
mean." 

Benedetta  smiled  a  little  at  an  explanation  which  was  no 
explanation.  She  began  to  understand  that  she  was 
indeed  the  mark  for  this  amazing  gentleman's  strange 
attentions,  and  his  manner  of  paying  compliments  piqued 
her  so  keenly  that  she  was  unwilling,  for  the  moment  at 
83 


THE   O'FLYNN 

least,  to  cut  him  short.  So  she  said  softly,  "I  think  in 
her  place  I  should  scarcely  believe  you." 

O'FIynn  turned  upon  her,  vehement,  voluble,  en- 
thusiastic. "Yes,  you  would,"  he  cried.  " I  tell  you,  you 
would,  for  you'd  know  it  was  truth  I  was  telling  with  every 
word  of  my  lips.  And  when  a  man  wooes  a  woman  so 
that  she  can  be  sure  he  means  what  he  says,  that  he  is 
hers,  every  bit  of  him,  from  toe  to  topknot,  the  woman 
can't  help  being  pleased.  I  defy  her  not  to  be  pleased." 

His  admiration  blazed  so  frankly  in  his  eyes,  animated  so 
patently  his  every  gesture,  that  Lady  Benedetta,  in  spite 
of  her  amusement  at  the  contrast  such  wooing  afforded 
with  the  elaborate  phrases  and  affected  suspirations  of 
her  admirers  in  France,  seemed  to  think  that  it  was  time 
to  end  a  situation  that  threatened  to  become  embarrassing. 
She  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  little  laugh. 

"Well  spoken,  Chevalier,"  she  said.  "If  you  will  but 
come  to  Dublin  and  serve  the  king,  I  am  sure  some  pretty 
lady  will  be  pleased  to  receive  your  addresses." 

But  by  this  time  O'FIynn  had  launched  the  ship  of  his 
heart  upon  the  ocean  of  his  eloquence.  He  was  resolved 
to  say  what  he  thought  and  would  not  be  gainsaid,  and  he 
spoke  to  her  with  a  rush  of  words  that  were  as  ready  as 
they  were  earnest. 

"There  is  only  one  pretty  lady  I  want,  and  that  is  your- 
self, no  other.  Since  the  first  time  I  saw  you,  I  said  to 
myself,  'that  is  the  woman  for  me;  that's  my  woman  from 
out  of  all  the  world.'  And  when  I  saw  you  this  afternoon, 
standing  there  in  the  doorway,  debonair  as  a  flower,  I 
thought  to  myself,  'vagabond  soldier  though  I  be,  I  will 
win  this  lady's  love.'  " 

For  all  the  passion  in  his  heart  and  all  the  passion  in 
84 


THE   LOVE-MAKER 

his  speech,  there  was  a  faint  note  of  banter  in  his  voice,  a 
slightly  ironical  smile  upon  his  lips  that  while  it  in  no  sense 
denied  the  truth  of  the  words  he  was  pouring  forth  so 
swiftly,  proved  also  to  the  girl's  keen  wit  that  he  was  not 
unaware  of  the  possible  ridicule  attached  to  them,  coming 
as  they  did,  from  him  in  his  then  condition.  He  paused 
for  a  moment  to  laugh,  and  then  dropping  on  one  knee  as 
gracefully  as  any  gallant  of  Saint-Germains  could  have 
done,  addressed  her,  looking  down  on  him  with  wide, 
astonished  eyes,  in  a  spirit  of  earnestness  that  appealed 
very  gallantly  to  her  pity  without  any  sense  of  abjection. 

"Why,  it  might  make  an  ordinary  piece  of  womankind 
laugh  to  see  me,  battered  and  tattered,  poor  and  spend- 
thrift as  I  am,  kneeling  here  at  the  feet  of  so  bright  a  lady, 
but  not  you,  Benedetta — not  you.  You  shall  see  in  me  not 
a  world-stained  soldier  of  fortune,  but  a  lover  worthy  even 
of  you,  made  so  by  my  love  for  you." 

Benedetta  was,  by  this  time,  not  a  little  perplexed  by 
the  result  of  the  conversation.  It  was  all  very  well  to 
have  a  sturdy  soldier  paying  her  poetic  compliments  in  a 
ruined  hall,  but,  when  these  compliments  glowed  into  the 
fervor  of  a  passionate  declaration,  the  humor  of  the  situ- 
ation became  overstrained.  She  drew  a  little  away  from 
her  proclaimed  adorer  and  her  voice  was  kindly  and  de- 
cided as  she  spoke. 

"O'Flynn,  you  must  not  say  any  more.  I'm  truly 
sorry,  for  I  like  you  finely  and  you  saved  my  life,  but  I  can 
never  love  you." 

O'Flynn  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  jolly  laugh.     In  the 

core  of  his  heart  he  was  not  disappointed,  for  he  had  never, 

even  in  the  exuberance  of  his  extravagant  fancy,  believed 

that  he  could  win  the  Lady  Benedetta  thus  and  so  soon. 

85 


THE   O'FLYNN 

He  had  spoken  in  obedience  to  those  wild  impulses  that 
sway  the  children  of  his  race  just  because  he  wanted  to 
speak,  just  because  he  wanted  to  tell  this  fair  and  gracious 
creature  that  he  worshipped  her.  Now  he  faced  her 
smiling  and  answered  her  denial  with  a  blithe  defiance. 

"Why,  sweeting,"  he  said,  gayly,  "how  do  you  know  ? 
Here  am  I  that  say  you  shall  and  'tis  more  likely  than  not 
that  I  know  better  than  you.  You  say  you  don't  dislike 
me." 

Benedetta  shook  her  head  emphatically  and  smiled. 
She  could  not  help  smiling  upon  her  wild  admirer. 

"No,"  she  answered,  gently. 

Flynn  made  a  triumphant  gesture.  "Why,  now,  look 
there;  here's  a  good  start.  I  tell  you,  loveliest,  that  you 
are  mine,  and  I  will  make  you  love  me  by-and-by." 

Lady  Benedetta  began  to  feel  a  trifle  vexed  at  her  wild 
wooer's  pertinacity.  Even  as  she  observed  him  in  his 
ragged  raiment  standing  in  his  ragged  house,  her  mind 
called  up  to  her  a  vision  of  a  very  beautiful  person,  very 
suave  of  speech,  very  exquisite  of  carriage,  always  clothed 
very  adorably,  a  man  whose  sword  was  feared  as  much  as 
his  manner  was  envied.  In  a  word  she  thought  of  my 
Lord  Sedgemouth,  and  sighed  at  the  thought,  for  she  loved 
the  exquisite  gentleman,  and  wished  him  there  to  woo  her 
in  place  of  this  mad  soldier  of  fortune.  So  she  spoke  a 
little  pettishly. 

"You  do  not  understand,"  she  said.  "I  love  another, 
and  I  think  he  loves  me." 

O'Flynn  had  not  the  grace  in  her  eyes  to  seem  in  the 

least   dashed    by   this   tremendous   statement.     He   only 

smiled    the    more   with    a    provoking   air  of  confidence. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said,  cheerfully,  "I'm  sorry  for  it,  for 

86 


THE   LOVE-MAKER 

you'll  have  to  give  the  spark  the  go-by.  But  it  affects  me 
not  a  little.  You  do  not  love  him  so  much  as  I  love  you, 
so  mine  is  the  greater  claim." 

The  absolute  audacity  of  his  manner,  his  grotesque 
serenity  of  self-belief  were  not  unattractive  to  the  girl,  who 
had  a  sense  of  humor,  and  they  were  certainly  amusing. 
So  instead  of  answering  him  seriously  she  preferred  to 
treat  him  in  his  own  spirit  of  jesting  good-humor. 

"Do  you  think,"  she  asked,  "I  could  look  at  a  man  who 
did  not  serve  my  king  ? " 

O'Flynn  made  a  military  salute.  "Is  that  all  ?"  he 
asked.  "He's  my  king,  henceforth,  and  I  am  his  faith- 
ful soldier." 

Lady  Benedetta  puckered  her  pretty  face  into  an  ex- 
pression of  discontent.  "  How  can  you  serve  him  here  ?" 
she  questioned.  "It's  in  Dublin  his  soldiers  are." 

O'Flynn  seemed  to  be  in  no  wise  embarrassed  by  what 
the  lady  said,  and  it  was  with  a  fine  air  of  confidence  that 
he  answered  her,  "I'll  go  to  Dublin." 

Benedetta  could  not  help  glancing  round  at  the  signs  of 
penury  about  her,  at  the  poverty  that  was  so  extravagantly 
evident  in  the  habit  of  the  man.  "  How  ?"  she  asked. 

O'Flynn  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  don't  know. 
But  I'll  go.  Fair  lady,  I'll  make  a  bargain  with  you.  I 
love  you  and  I  mean  to  win  you,  and  to  win  you  I  will  do 
such  deeds  as  shall  make  you  wonder;  and  whatever  I  do, 
whatever  I  accomplish,  you  and  I  will  know  is  done  for 
one  lady — and  that  lady  is  your  angel-self.  I  will  make 
you  love  me,  and  everything  I  do  I  will  lay  at  your 
feet." 

O'Flynn  was  now  in  the  full  tide  of  passionate  declara- 
tion again  and  Benedetta  strove  in  vain  to  arrest  him. 
7  87 


THE   O'FLYNN 

"Stop! stop!"  she  pleaded, with  lifted  finger, but  O'Flynn 
flamed  on. 

"And  I  want  you  to  say  to  yourself  every  day,  'he  loves 
me  better  than  his  soul' — two  or  three  times  over — and 
you'll  soon  see  how  used  you  get  to  the  idea." 

He  paused  as  if  to  view  the  effect  of  this  suggestion  upon 
his  companion,  but  she  only  shook  her  head  very  decidedly. 

"It's  useless,  O'Flynn.  I'm  sorry,  but  it's  useless. 
Now  I  must  bid  you  farewell,  or  I  shall  be  late  at  home 
and  my  father  will  scold  me." 

O'Flynn  smiled  at  her  with  bright  good-humor.  "You 
may  go  now,  but  I  shall  see  you  again,  never  doubt  it, 
and  win  you,  too — or  I'm  not  the  man  I  think  I  am.  Let 
me  bring  you  to  your  horse." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  her  as  he  spoke  with  as  gallant 
a  manner  as  any  courtier  of  the  Mall,  and  he  conducted 
his  visitor  through  the  doorway  to  the  dilapidated  outhouse 
that  did  duty  for  stables.  Here  Lady  Benedetta's  horse 
waited  her,  where  she  had  tied  it  to  an  empty  manger. 
O'Flynn  brought  the  animal  out  and  mounted  the  lady. 
He  uttered  no  further  word  of  love,  but  gave  her  God-speed 
and  watched  her  ride  away  with  a  smile  upon  his  face 
and  determination  in  his  eyes. 


THE    COMING    OF    THE    PLAYERS 

A  X  7~HEN  O'Flynn  saw  the  last  flutter  of  the  Lady 
V  V  Benedetta's  green  riding-dress  and  the  last  gleam  of 
her  fair  hair  disappear  behind  the  distant  trees,  he  turned 
slowly  round  and  made  his  way  back  to  his  ancestral  ruin. 
Being,  as  he  said  of  himself,  a  bit  of  a  poet,  the  degradation 
of  Castle  Famine  did  not  seem  more  flagrant  in  contrast 
with  the  grace  and  beauty  of  the  vision  that  had  just 
quitted  it.  On  the  contrary,  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  that 
fair  visitation  had  in  a  measure  blessed  and  glorified  the 
old  place,  gilding  the  gray  stones  with  a  wonder  greater 
than  sunlight  and  coloring  the  bare  walls  of  his  hall  with 
lovelier  images  than  the  faded  hangings  had  ever  shown. 
When  he  returned  he  found  Coin  and  Gosling  awaiting 
him  with  quizzical  looks. 

"That's  a  mighty  fine  lady  of  yours,"  Coin  said  to  him, 
cheerfully.  "  Do  you  know  that  she  is  a  great  heiress  ?" 

O'Flynn  hardly  heeded  what  the  fellow  said.  He  took 
from  a  ledge  in  the  chimneypiece  a  clay  pipe  and  a 
battered  old  earthenware  pipkin  that  contained  some 
strong  tobacco  he  had  newly  shredded.  Slowly  he  filled 
the  bowl  and  then  going  to  where  Conachor's  brazier  still 
glowed,  he  took  up  a  piece  of  firewood,  thrust  it  into  the 
flame  till  it  was  alight  and  slowly  and  deliberately  lit  his 
89  ' 


THE   O'FLYNN 

pipe.  As  the  first  gray  puffs  ascended  he  seemed  to  recall 
the  bailiff's  question,  and  giving  a  glance  in  the  direction 
of  the  expectant  Coin  he  answered  absently,  "  No/' 

Gosling  rubbed  his  hands  and  chuckled  over  his  thoughts. 

"She  is,  no  less,"  he  said.  "Fifty  thousand  pounds. 
Property  abroad,  France — quite  safe  whatever  happens  to 
England,  Ireland  or  Scotland.  Lucky  man  who  weds 
her." 

Flynn  seemed  to  pay  him  no  attention.  He  seated 
himself  at  the  table  on  the  same  seat  where  he  had  faced 
the  Lady  Benedetta  so  short  a  time  ago,  and  yet  that  time 
now  seemed  like  an  eternity.  He  smoked  thoughtfully 
for  a  while  in  silence,  watched  with  great  curiosity  by  the 
brace  of  bailiffs,  who  were  undoubtedly  much  impressed 
by  the  fact  that  the  Lady  Benedetta  Mountmichael,  the 
great  heiress  and  great  lady,  had  deigned  to  pay  a  visit 
to  the  master  of  Castle  Famine.  Then  Flynn,  because 
he  felt  the  need  of  saying  something  with  an  audience 
so  blatantly  expectant  of  speech,  and,  being  unwilling  to 
carry  on  the  conversation  on  the  lines  that  the  curiosity 
of  the  bailiffs  had  suggested,  began  to  dilate  awhile  on 
the  praises  of  tobacco. 

"Was  there  ever,"  he  mused,  "a  more  blessed,  more 
excellent  weed  than  tobacco  ?  I've  never  begun  a  battle 
yet  without  smoking  a  pipe  of  it,  and  now  that  my  biggest 
campaign's  ahead  of  me,  I  won't  break  through  the 
habit."  As  he  spoke,  he  rose  again  and  advanced  toward 
Coin  and  Gosling  with  a  whimsical  smile  upon  his  face. 
"I  suppose  neither  of  you  two  gentlemen  would  find  it 
convenient  to  lend  me  a  hundred  pounds  to  go  to  Dublin 
with." 

Coin  and  Gosling  shook  their  heads  very  emphatically 
90 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  PLAYERS 

for  several  seconds  in  denial  of  any  such  preposterous 
proposition. 

O'Flynn's  smile  widened.  "Nor  yet  fifty  ?"  he  ques- 
tioned further. 

Coin  grunted. 

Gosling  answered  dryly,  "No,  nor  yet  fi'pence." 

O'Flynn's  face  wore  the  expression  of  one  who,  at  least, 
had  neglected  no  available  chance  of  fortune.  "No,  I 
thought  not,"  he  admitted.  "Well,  it  can't  be  helped — 
yet  they  say  Dublin's  a  fine  city/' 

Gosling  nodded  approval  of  the  sentiment.  He  was 
tired  of  Castle  Famine  and  its  short  commons,  though  he 
had  grown  to  feel  an  unbounded  admiration  for  its  master, 
and  he  sighed  not  a  little  for  the  delights  of  the  capital; 
delights  that  must  be  doubly  dear  just  then  with  a  royal 
king  holding  a  royal  court  in  the  city.  "Fine,"  he  echoed, 
approvingly. 

O'Flynn  heaved  a  sigh.  "If  I  had  only  a  horse  in  my 
stables,  I  might  be  riding  there  to-morrow,"  he  murmured. 

Gosling  felt  it  was  his  duty,  as  a  representative  of  the 
law,  to  make  at  least  a  formal  protest  against  the  proposed 
flitting.  "You  might  if  we'd  allow  you,"  he  said,  but  he 
said  it  half-heartedly,  and  O'Flynn  recognized  the  half- 
heartedness  with  a  laugh. 

"Is  it  the  likes  of  you  would  stop  me  ?"  he  asked.  "Give 
me  some  punch."  He  settled  himself  again  in  his  chair, 
thrust  his  booted  legs  in  front  of  him,  blew  several  puffs 
of  gray  smoke  into  the  air  and  took  a  -hearty  pull  at  the 
mug  of  punch  which  the  obedient  Gosling  placed  in  his 
extended  fingers.  Then  he  spoke  again, 

"Whiles  ago  I  should  have  thought  that  there  was 
nothing  better  in  the  world  than  this,  to  sit  with  out- 
91 


THE  O'FLYNN 

stretched  legs  drinking  punch  and  smoking  tobacco. 
But  now  it's  crazy  I  am  to  be  on  the  road  again."  With 
the  words  he  seemed  suddenly  to  feel  a  desire  to  be  alone 
with  his  thoughts.  He  turned  sharply  on  the  men  and 
commanded  them,  "Now,  clear  the  table,  boys,  and  be 
off  with  you." 

With  great  nimbleness  and  alacrity  the  two  bailiffs, 
turned  serving-men,  did  as  their  temporary  lord  directed. 
They  removed  the  remains  of  the  meal  that  Flynn  had 
shared  with  Benedetta,  that  golden  meal  and  worthy 
of  the  gods,  and  withdrawing  on  tiptoe,  left  O'Flynn  to 
his  meditations  and  the  dusk.  For  a  while  O'Flynn  sat 
motionless,  the  only  sign  of  his  animation  being  the  jets  of 
gray  clouds  that  rose  slowly  from  his  glowing  pipe.  He 
was  trying  to  rhyme  a  rhyme  in  honor  of  the  Lady  Bene- 
detta and  he  got  the  swing  of  it  well  enough  in  the  Gaelic, 
and  was  now  trying  to  turn  it  into  English  for  the  benefit 
at  some  future  time  of  a  pretty  lady  who  had  no  Irish. 

"Childeen,"  it  began,  for  thus  the  O'Flynn  gallantly 
coined  a  word  to  fill  a  want  in  the  speech  of  the  Sassenach, 

"  Childeen,  I  think  the  soul  of  Spring 
Shines  in  the  candor  of  your  eyes." 

Beyond  that  he  seemed  at  the  moment  to  be  unable  to  go 
on  with  his  task  of  translation  and  he  abandoned  the 
enterprise  and  set  himself  somnolently  to  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  smoke  wreaths  that  swirled  about  him. 

"Pictures   in  the   smoke,"   he   meditated,   "wonderful 

pictures.     As  those  gray  clouds  spiral  in  the  air  they  take 

a   woman's    shape — they    frame    a   woman's    face,    they 

wreathe  a  woman's  hair.     God  save  the  king  that  has  her 

92 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  PLAYERS 

for  his  loyal  subject.  Glory,  laurels,  honor,  success — 
Benedetta — "  The  words  he  had  been  forming  had  come 
slower  and  slower  from  his  lips.  His  head  had  dropped 
lower  and  lower  as  he  spoke  and  now  immediately  upon 
the  utterance  of  the  beloved  name  his  chin  sank  upon  his 
breast  and  O'Flynn  very  actually  and  positively  fell 
asleep. 

How  long  Flynn  sat  there,  first  smoking  consciously, 
then,  when  his  pipe  had  gone  out,  dozing  unconsciously, 
and  so  drifting  into  the  kingdom  of  dreams,  Flynn  never 
knew.  In  those  dreams  he  met  with  Benedetta;  she 
whom  even  the  magic  of  dreams  could  not  make  more 
lovely  than  she  showed  to  him  in  life.  In  those  dreams 
he  walked  with  her,  talked  with  her,  found  her  more  kind 
than  smiling,  believed  himself  elected  her  friend,  her  de- 
fender, esteemed  himself  a  god  among  mortals  —  for  he 
was  not  allowed  to  kiss  her  hand  without  challenge  or 
question. 

He  was  roused  from  these  raptures,  which  found,  alas, 
a  physical  interpretation  in  rather  vehement  snorings,  by 
a  noisy  imperative  knocking  at  his  front  door.  At  first 
these  knockings  merely  translated  themselves  to  his  slum- 
bering senses  as  portion  of  the  pageant  of  his  dreams,  but 
presently  as  they  persisted  and  increased  in  vehemence, 
he  became  gradually  and  reluctantly  aware  that  he  was 
not  walking  in  a  rose  garden  with  Benedetta  who  had 
just  promised  to  marry  him,  but  that  he  was  huddled  in  a 
hard  chair  in  the  bleak  hall  of  Castle  Famine  and  that  his 
chin  was  resting  heavily  upon  his  breast. 

Still  the  rapping  continued,  alternating  between  a  series 
of  taps  that  seemed  almost  apologetic  and  positively 
plaintive,  and  a  rattling  tattoo  that  well-nigh  threatened 
93 


THE   O'FLYNN 

invasion.  Flynn  tugged  at  the  strings  of  his  somnolent 
senses  and  tightened  them  to  aptness  for  use.  He  lifted 
himself  from  the  chair  in  which  he  had  allowed  himself 
to  lie  embedded,  glanced  ruefully  at  the  ruins  of  his  pipe 
upon  the  floor,  and  then  directed  his  still  uncertain  steps 
toward  the  door  upon  whose  panels  the  thumping  still 
persisted.  As  Flynn  reached  the  portal  there  came  a 
moment's  pause  in  the  summons,  a  pause  in  all  probability 
due  to  the  temporary  fatigue  of  the  summoner,  for  when 
Flynn  drew  open  the  door  he  caught  that  same  summoner, 
with  uplifted  hand  that  clenched  a  stone  in  its  fingers  in 
the  very  intent  to  renew  his  appeal.  On  Flynn's  appear- 
ance the  stone  was  allowed  to  fall  to  earth  and  the  hand 
that  had  used  it  to  hammer  on  O'Flynn's  timber  was 
extended  in  salutation  and  solicitation. 

The  man  who  stood  before  Flynn  on  the  threshold  of 
his  ragged  castle  was  such  an  one  as  arrested,  and  indeed 
appeared  desirous  to  arrest,  the  attention  of  the  immediate 
spectator.  He  was  of  sufficient  height  to  deny  detraction 
the  pleasure  of  calling  him  short,  and  yet  at  the  same  time 
it  would  take  more  than  flattery  to  assert  him  tall.  He 
was  plump,  he  was  rotund,  he  had  a  full,  smooth,  colorless 
face,  whose  fleshy  lips  suggested  sensuality,  whose  beady 
eyes  seemed  in  their  mingled  hints  of  insolence  and 
cunning  to  challenge  and  to  supplicate.  The  new-comer 
was  clad,  after  a  fashion  that  was  patently  intended  to 
suggest  a  sombre  and  noble  richness,  in  a  body-suit  of 
black  velvet,  something  worn  at  the  seams,  indeed  the 
elbows  and  the  knees,  but  still  showy  enough  for  the 
purpose.  This  habit  was  enriched  by  a  considerable 
display  of  imitation  lace  worn  in  a  fashion  that  was  at 
the  least  a  generation  old,  and  would  have  recalled  the 
94 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  PLAYERS 

happy  days  of  the  great  and  glorious  Restoration  to  a 
keener  student  of  the  mode  than  O'Flynn.  The  not 
unpleasing  apparel  was  finished  as  far  as  the  feet  were 
concerned  by  sable  stockings  and  buckled  shoes,  and,  as 
to  the  head,  by  a  massive  black  hat  with  its  plumage  of 
raven-hued  feathers.  The  whole  bulky  presence  was 
partially  enveloped  in  a  vast  black  mantle  that  insinuated 
the  Spanish  grandee  of  a  second-rate  tragedy. 

The  O'Flynn  stared  in  astonishment  at  the  fantastic 
apparition.  The  fumes  of  punch,  the  fumes  of  tobacco,  the 
fumes  of  love  still  clouded  his  mind,  and  tags  of  rhyme 
about  a  childeen  with  fair  hair  who  served  King  James 
were  buzzing  in  his  ears.  He  could  not  feel  sure  if  the 
thing  before  him  was  a  reality  or  a  phantasm  begotten  of 
nightmare. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  gasped. 

The  sable  stranger  answered  him  in  a  voice  of  muffled 
thunder  that  rang  through  the  ancient  hall,  seeming  to 
echo  in  the  cobwebbed  rafters,  and  fluttered  with  its 
vehemence  the  tattered  banners  of  the  past.  "Hospital- 
ity," he  cried,  "most  noble  seneschal  of  this  stately  castle 
— hospitality." 

O'Flynn  gaped  at  him.  "  Hospitality,"  he  repeated, 
dimly  conscious  that  he  was  mounting  through  the 
waves  of  sleep  to  sensibility  and  so  dimly  aware  of 
the  irony  of  such  a  request  in  such  a  place  at  such  a 
time. 

The  flamboyant  man  in  black  explained  himself. 
"Even  so,  my  lord — let  me  present  myself— let  me  explain 
my  presence,  my  very  necessary  trespass." 

As  the  stranger  paused  at  the  end  of  every  sentence  to 
observe  the  effect  of  his  sonorous  utterances  upon  the 
95 


THE   O'FLYNN 

hearer,  O'Flynn  felt  bound  in  courtesy  to  say  something, 
therefore,  he  said,  "Proceed." 

The  tall  man  in  black  wagged  his  great  face  from  side 
to  side  till  the  curls  of  his  wig  shook  again.  "My  name 
is  Burden,"  he  thundered,  "Matthew  Burden.  Perhaps 
you  may  have  heard  of  me." 

Flynn  slowly  but  steadily  collecting  his  scattered  senses 
made  an  apologetic  gesture  of  denial. 

"Burden,"  he  said,  "Burden,  well  just  for  the  moment 
I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  quite — "  he  paused,  hesitated, 
stammered,  but  the  stranger  took  him  up  with  a  brisk 
tonitrous  volubility. 

"I  am,"  he  declaimed,  "in  all  humility,  the  head  of 
those  his  Majesty's  Servants,  the  late  Riverside  Fellow- 
ship of  Stage  Players.  Has  our  modest  fame  never 
reached  your  lordship's  ears  ?" 

The  full,  fat  volume  of  the  voice  beat  against  O'Flynn's 
ears  like  the  volleying  of  distant  guns,  or  the  beating  of 
eager  waves  against  a  breakwater.  It  had,  at  least,  the 
effect  of  banging  his  consciousness  awake. 

"I  have  been  abroad  for  twenty  years,"  he  said,  in 
explanation  of  his  ignorance.  "I  know  nothing  of 
London."  Then  feeling  that  he  had  said  enough  on  this 
matter  and  anxious  to  set  his  interlocutor  right  as  to  his 
pompous  manner  of  address,  he  went  on.  "And  please 
don't  call  me  lordship,  call  me  O'Flynn.  I  am  the  O'Flynn 
at  your  service." 

There  was  no  sign  of  embarrassment  on  the  great  white 
face  of  the  stranger.  "Well,  then,  Mr.  O'Flynn — "  he 
began,  but  here  O'Flynn,  who  could  endure  much,  but 
not  everything,  interrupted  him  again  impatiently.  To 
be  called  your  lordship  was  bad,  but  to  be  called  Mr. 
96 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  PLAYERS 

O'Flynn  when  he  was  the  O'Flynn,  and  as  such  to  be 
addressed  as  O'Flynn  by  every  man,  woman  or  child 
that  wished  to  address  him,  was  something  more  than 
exasperating. 

"Damn  it  man,  no!"  he  protested,  "O'Flynn  if  you 
please.  That's  the  way  to  address  me  in  these  parts." 

The  big  black  man  laid  a  paw  on  O'Flynn's  shoulder 
caressingly.  "It  sounds  so  familiar,"  he  protested, 
stroking  O'Flynn's  sleeve. 

O'Flynn  shook  him  off.  "You  may  take  it  from  me  that 
it's  not,"  he  said,  "and  now,  sir,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

The  stranger  thrust  the  rejected  hand  into  a  fold  of  his 
mantle,  struck  a  dramatic  attitude  and  began.  "O'Flynn, 
we  are  cast  naked  upon  your  coast." 

Seeing  that  O'Flynn  was  somewhat  astonished  at  such 
a  statement  coming  from  a  man  so  thickly  garmented,  he 
condescended  by  the  use  of  a  single  word,  "Hamlet,"  to 
explain  that  he  was  making  a  citation  from  the  national 
poet  of  England.  While  Flynn,  whose  familiarity  with 
the  great  Master  of  Stratford-on-Avon  was  scanty,  accepted 
the  explanation  with  a  good-humored  grin,  the  stranger 
continued,  "Less  poetically  our  coach  has  come  to  grief, 
and  I  and  my  fellow-players  entreat  your  hospitality  till 
our  wheel  be  mended." 

Flynn  heard  the  repetition  of  the  word  "hospitality" 
with  a  gloomy  heart,  and  he  smiled  ruefully  as  he  ex- 
plained: "You  are  heartily  welcome  to  such  shelter  as 
my  poor  roof  can  afford.  But  as  to  other  hospitality, 
you  arrive  in  an  ill-hour.  Had  you  come  yesterday,  there 
would  have  been  a  haunch  of  venison,  a  game  pasty,  a 
baron  of  beef — and — yes,  a  whole  sheep  to  regale  you, 
but  these  have  gone  the  way  of  all  roast  flesh — " 
97 


THE   O'FLYNN 

Master  Burden  uplifted  a  massive  hand  in  protest. 
"Say  no  more,  I  entreat.  We  travel  well  plenished,  and 
if  you  will  permit  us  to  spread  our  store  on  yonder  table, 
and  will  honor  us  by  joining  our  repast — ' 

He  paused  with  an  air  of  regal  condescension  and  Flynn, 
his  stomach  tickled  by  this  hint  of  provisions,  caught 
eagerly  at  his  suggestion,  though  he  tried  to  carry  off  his 
eagerness  with  an  airy  indifference.  "Upon  my  honor," 
he  protested,  "I  have  been  eating  so  much  lately  that  I 
don't  think  I  could  swallow  another  morsel."  Then  with 
a  sudden  change  of  key  to  sharp  interrogation,  he  asked, 
"What  have  you  got  ?" 

Master  Burden,  proud  of  his  pomp,  began,  "Why,  we 
travel  a  boar's  head — ' 

Flynn  rubbed  his  hands.     "It'll  pass — delicious." 

Burden  went  on,  "And  a  string  of  sausages." 

"Admirable,"  Flynn  applauded. 

Burden  continued,  "With  a  demi-dozen  of  cold  fowls 
and  a  ham — ' 

Flynn  continued  his  applause.  "Fowl  and  ham,"  he 
murmured,  "magnificent — they're  welcome." 

Pleased  by  the  O'Flynn's  reception  of  his  catalogue  of 
viands  Burden  shifted  his  ground.  "And  as  for  licjuor," 
he  went  on,  "we  have  some  flasks  of  prime  Burgundy,  and 
a  keg  of  as  pleasant  a  brandy  as  ever  your  honor  tasted." 

He  spoke  glowingly  as  if  the  Burgundy  he  spoke  of 
were  warming  his  vitals,  as  if  the  golden  brandy  were 
rolling  on  his  tongue.  His  enthusiasm  stirred  the  O'Flynn 
as  if  it  had  been  the  utterance  of  the  sibyl. 

"Master  Burden,"  he  cried,  "you  have  such  a  dramatic 
way  with  you  that  you  positively  make  me  that  am  overfed 
feel  hungry.  For  God's  sake,  bring  in  your  victuals — " 
98 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  PLAYERS 

He  hurriedly  checked  himself,  and  continued,  "I  mean,  of 
course,  bring  in  your  companions,  at  once." 

Master  Burden  made  him  a  stately  obeisance  and  gave 
a  great  sweep  of  his  sable-plumaged  hat.  "I  am  vastly 
obliged  to  you,"  he  said,  and  then  turning  on  his  heel  with 
all  the  dignity  familiar  to  stage  monarchs,  he  passed 
solemnly — even  portentously — from  the  hall. 

The  moment  he  was  gone  O'Flynn  bounded  to  the  door 
that  led  to  the  domestic  offices  of  the  castle  and  called 
wildly,  "Conachor,  man,  Conachor — where  the  devil  are 
you  ?" 

After  a  few  seconds,  O'Rourke  came  in  rubbing  his 
sleepy  eyes  with  Coin  and  Gosling  at  his  heels. 

"Where  have  you  been  all  this  while?"  O'Flynn 
questioned. 

O'Rourke  explained.  "Sure,  we've  been  having  a  bit 
of  sleep  in  the  stable  in  the  warmth  of  the  straw." 

Flynn  cut  him  short.  "Listen  to  me,"  he  said.  "I've 
got  some  visitors,  and  they  have  got  some  provisions, 
Heaven  bless  them." 

Coin  and  Gosling  caught  at  the  important  word  and 
echoed  it  wolfishly  as  if  they  were  gnawing  bones. 

"Provisions!"  O'Rourke  blinked  up  incredulously  at 
his  master.  "Is  it  food  you  mean  ?"  he  asked. 

"No  less,"  Flynn  asserted. 

He  turned  to  the  bailiffs  and  harangued  them  vehemently: 
"Now,  I'm  not  going  to  pass  you  off  for  gentlefolk  this 
time.  These  people  are  play-actors,  and  they'd  see 
through  you.  You've  got  to  be  my  servants  and  wait 
at  table,  and  if  you  snatch  any  of  the  vivers  you'll  be 
sorry." 

The  little  man  in  the  brown  coat  shook  his  clenched 
99 


THE   O'FLYNN 

fists  in  a  kind  of  impotent  rage  at  O'Flynn.  "Curse  it!" 
he  screamed,  "you  won't  ask  us  to  stand  empty  while 
others  fill." 

O'Flynn  gave  him  a  pat  on  the  shoulder  that  nearly 
flattened  him  into  his  boots.  "Be  easy,"  he  said,  "I'll 
pass  you  bits  on  the  sly.  Here  they  come.  Now,  then, 
stand  against  the  wall — as  stiff"  as  you  can — and  keep 
your  hands  by  your  sides,  so." 

He  ranged  the  three  fellows  in  front  of  the  fireplace 
according  to  their  sizes,  the  big  man  in  the  blue  coat  close 
to  the  door,  the  little  man  in  the  brown  coat  next  to  him, 
and  the  diminutive  King  of  Munster,  that  could  scarcely 
be  said  to  carry  a  coat  at  all,  ending  off"  a  tapering  rank  of 
attendants.  These  matters  had  scarcely  been  arranged 
satisfactorily  when  the  noise  was  heard  of  the  tread  of 
many  feet  approaching  the  doorway,  and  in  another 
moment  Master  Burden  entered  the  room  with  a  number 
of  men  and  women  behind  him. 


XI 

THE   RHYME  OF  THE   PLAYERS 

THE  company  that  entered  the  room  at  the  heels  of 
Burden  represented  for  the  most  part  types  suggesting 
rather  the  well-to-do  citizen  engaged  in  some  reputable 
commercial  business  than  vagabond  and  adventurous 
ministers  of  delight.  Burden  himself  was  bulky  of  build, 
solemn  of  presence,  and  dignified,  even  pompous  in 
carriage.  Among  the  foremost  of  the  others  was  the  fat, 
bald  man  that  might  have  passed  very  well  for  an  alder- 
man of  experience  with  his  eye  upon  the  chair.  He  had 
for  a  neighbor  a  fellow  that  suggested  nothing  more 
romantic  than  a  thriving  ship's  chandler.  The  third  of 
the  males  was  a  stooped,  bird  -  like  man  with  a  large 
nose,  who  with  his  small  pinched  figure  tightly  habited 
in  rusty  umber  coat  and  gray  small-clothes,  his  wrinkled 
face  and  little  peering  eyes,  and  his  thin,  lank  strips  of 
dusty  hair,  conveyed  to  Flynn  the  impression  of  a  con- 
fidential clerk  in  some  not  too  successful  business,  who 
had  learned  from  adversity  to  look  sourly  upon  the 
world.  Even  the  earlier  of  the  two  women  who  followed 
Master  Burden  was  no  marked  exception  to  the  general 
atmosphere  of  the  commonplace.  Though  she  possessed 
some  remains  of  beauty  and  was  dressed  with  a  kind  of 
faded  splendor  in  amber  silks  and  purple  velvets,  she 
101 


THE   O'FLYNN 

suggested  rather  the  mayoress  of  a  small  provincial  town, 
than  an  artist  who  could  thrill  admiring  multitudes  with 
the  flowing  lines  of  poets. 

The  two  real  exceptions  to  the  general  air  of  respecta- 
bility were  a  young  man  and  a  young  girl  who  entered 
the  hall  together  arm  in  arm,  bringing  up  the  rear  of  the 
regiment  of  players.  The  youth  was  dressed  and  over- 
dressed in  what  he  believed  to  be  the  latest  mode.  Every- 
thing about  him  suggested  a  character  fascinating  by 
pitiful  exaggerations.  His  heels,  his  buckles,  his  ruffles, 
his  rings,  his  chains,  his  buttons  and  linen,  his  lavender 
coat,  golden  waistcoat  and  dove-colored  breeches,  all 
asserted  themselves  aggressively,  and,  as  it  were,  challenged 
the  spectator  to  admire  the  darling  of  the  mode.  He  had 
a  face  that  was  not  ill-looking  in  a  somewhat  loutish  way; 
in  his  gaudy  waistcoat  and  gallant  coat  he  looked  for  all 
the  world  like  a  footman  that  was  masquerading  in  the 
habits  of  a  well-dressed  master.  Partly  cunning,  partly 
impudent,  wholly  vain  and  self-complacent,  he  was  such 
a  youth  as  shopkeepers'  daughters  might  take  for  the 
very  pattern  and  example  of  a  fine  gentleman. 

But  the  last  of  the  company  of  players,  the  girl,  the  girl 
that  hung  upon  the  arm  of  this  pinchbeck  fop,  was  curiously 
different  from  all  of  them.  She  was  perhaps  as  obviously 
the  actress  as  the  youth,  her  companion,  was  obviously 
the  actor.  The  stage  declared  itself  in  her  carriage,  in  her 
manners,  and  in  her  attitudes,  in  the  overaudacity  of  her 
bright  eyes,  in  the  insolent  assertion  of  paint  upon  her  lips 
and  cheeks,  in  the  exuberance  of  her  well-displayed  bosom. 
Yet  it  was  plain  to  see  that  she  was  a  very  pretty  woman, 
and  might  well  prove  a  very  charming  woman,  and  if  she 
had  but  paid  a  visit  to  Castle  Famine  under  other  con- 
102 


THE   RHYME   OF   THE    PLAYERS 

ditions,  Flynn  might  very  well  have  been  prepared  to 
welcome  her  as  at  least  a  Thespian  deity.  Even  with  the 
thought  of  the  Lady  Benedetta  dominant  in  his  brain, 
and  reigning  in  his  heart,  he  was  compelled  to  recognize 
that  he  had  seldom  or  never  in  all  his  wanderings  seen  a 
more  comely  or  more  desirable  lass  than  this.  She  was 
dressed  with  something  of  the  same  exaggeration  that 
characterized  the  attire  of  her  would-be  exquisite,  but 
with  the  skill  of  her  sex  she  carried  her  affectations  and 
exaggerations  more  daintily,  and  glittered  and  shone  in 
the  dusk  of  the  gaunt  hall  like  some  silver  bird  in  a  gray 
forest,  like  some  silver  fish  in  a  gray  sea.  It  was  evident 
that  the  girl  from  the  first  was  pleased  with  the  appearance 
of  her  host,  and  with  the  cheerful  effrontery  of  her  nature 
not  only  made  no  effort  to  conceal  her  approval  but  was 
at  pains  to  make  it  patent,  to  the  obvious  indignation  of 
her  swain,  who  seemed  to  consider  that  he  had  certain 
rights  over  the  lady  which  he  resented  seeing  infringed. 

Flynn,  who  was  only  amused  at  the  simmering  indigna- 
tion of  the  lad,  was  half  unconsciously  pleased  and  flattered 
by  the  admiration  of  the  lass.  He  knew  how  poor  a  figure 
he  cut  as  far  as  his  clothes  were  concerned,  and  he  was 
glad  to  think  that  this  pretty  piece  of  impertinence  could 
forget  or  ignore  the  shabby  uniform  and  accept  the  man 
that  carried  it. 

Master  Burden,  however,  allowed  little  time  for  his 
host  to  reflect  upon  the  nature  of  his  guests.  With  a 
dexterity  and  swiftness  of  an  experienced  stage-manager, 
he  took  command  of  the  situation  and  proceeded  to  pre- 
sent his  companions  to  his  new  host  in  the  grandest 
manner. 

"Allow  me,"  he  said,  "to  present  my  dear  comrades." 
8  103 


THE   O'FLYNN 

He  pointed  to  the  opulent  lady  in  amber  and  purple. 
"This  is  our  heavy  lady — Mrs.  Deborah  Oldmixon.  Her 
Cleopatra,  sir,  in  All  for  Love — well,  there's  nothing  in 
the  world  like  it." 

The  little  bird-like  man  in  the  snuff-colored  coat  was 
heard  by  O'Flynn  to  ejaculate,  "No,  thank  Heaven!" 

He  smiled  at  the  hearing,  but  his  smile  faded  as  the 
stately  lady  advancing  steadily  upon  him  proceeded  to 
address  him  in  a  manner  suggestive  of  much  internal 
anguish : 

"The  gods  have  seen  my  joys  with  envious  eyes; 
I  have  no  friends  in  heaven — and  all  the  world — 
As  'twere  the  business  of  mankind  to  part  us — 
Is  armed  against  my  love." 

O'Flynn  strove  to  carry  an  air  of  the  most  profound 
concern.  "I  am  most  distressed  to  hear  it,  madam,"  he 
declared. 

But  the  gorgeous  lady,  swiftly  changing  her  manner  to 
one  of  a  stately  amiability,  continued,  "Ah,  sir,  I  did  but 
cite  our  divine  Dryden.  Whenever  I  hear  his  Cleopatra 
named,  I  must  needs  give  tongue." 

O'Flynn  made  her  his  best  bow.  "Monstrous  obliging 
of  you/  madam,  in  my  honor,"  he  said. 

Hereupon  Cleopatra  tapped  his  arm  with  her  fan  and 
whispered,  "Flatterer!"  She  seemed  inclined  to  linger 
and  prolong  the  conversation,  but  she  was  compelled  to 
stand  aside  by  Burden,  who  now  brought  forward  the 
pretty  girl  that  had  entered  the  room  in  the  company  of 
the  foppish  youth. 

"This,"  he  said,  "this  is  our  comic  muse,  Mistress 
Free,  pretty,  witty  Fancy,  the  toast  of  the  wits,  the  despair 
104 


THE   RHYME   OF   THE   PLAYERS 

of  the  gallants,  gay  on  the  stage,  sir,  but  a  saint  in  the  day- 
time." 

Again  the  bird-like  man  uttered  an  exclamation.  "Lord, 
have  mercy!"  he  said,  loudly  enough,  but  no  one  seemed 
to  heed  him  or  indeed  to  hear  him,  except  O'Flynn. 

The  pretty  girl  came  close  to  O'Flynn  with  a  provocative 
smile  on  her  face.  "  Have  you  got  any  salt  on  the  table  ?"  she 
asked.  "You'll  be  needing  a  pinch  to  season  my  praises." 

O'Flynn  looked  at  her  admiringly.  "Faith,  pretty 
lady,"  he  protested,  "if  I  were  a  town  gallant,  I  should 
lay  siege  to  that  same  saintliness." 

The  girl's  eyes  wooed  him  invitingly.  "Would  you  so? 
Will  you  so  ?"  she  asked. 

O'Flynn  made  a  gesture  of  deprecation.  "  I  am  but  a 
down-at-heel  soldier,"  he  asserted,  "an  out-at-elbows 
squire — you'd  have  no  use  for  my  homage." 

The  girl  laughed  roguishly.  "  I  think  we  may  be  friends, 
tall  gentleman,"  she  said,  and  would  have  said  more  but 
Master  Burden  again  brought  up  a  member  of  his  com- 
pany, and  Mistress  Free  had  to  go  her  way  and  rejoin 
Mistress  Oldmixon  in  the  background. 

The  new-comer  that  Master  Burden  presented  was  a 
dandified  youth  that  had  entered  the  hall  with  Mistress 
Free. 

"Here/.*  said  Master  Burden,  "is  Master  Gonamur, 
prince  of  juveniles,  lord  of  lovers,  the  idol  of  the  fair." 

The  little  fop  gave  an  airy  wave  of  his  arm.  "La,  sir, 
fie!"  he  protested,  in  an  affected  voice,  "you  abash  me." 
He  turned  to  O'Flynn  with  a  supercilious  smile.  "It  is 
true,  sir,  that  I  am  something  esteemed  in  town.  I  help 
to  set  the  mode.  I  will  teach  you  to  knot  a  cravat  if  you 
please,  after  supper." 

105 


THE   O'FLYNN 

The  snuff-coated  cynic  commented,  "Lout!"  unnoticed. 

Flynn  looked  down  good-humoredly  at  the  complacent 
little  dandy.  "And  I,"  he  said,  "can  teach  you  how  to 
twist  a  halter.  I  learned  it  when  I  was  quartermaster  of 
Pandours.  Many  a  pretty  fellow  like  you,  have  I  had  the 
honor  to — "  He  made  a  gesture  with  finger  and  thumb 
at  the  side  of  his  neck  that  suggested  the  idea  of  hanging 
plainly  enough,  to  the  most  sluggish  intelligence. 

Master  Conamur  shuddered,  grew  pale,  and  fluttered 
away  to  seek  solace  in  the  company  of  the  ladies. 

Master  Burden  then  brought  forward  the  fellow  that  had 
suggested  a  ship's  chandler  to  O'Flynn.  "This,"  he  said, 
"is  Master  Winshaw,  our  noble  parent.  A  fine  player, 
sir,  a  ripe  player,  a  mellow  player." 

Master  Winshaw  looked  at  O'Flynn  with  a  forbidding 
frown.  "I  do  my  best,  sir,"  he  growled.  "No  artist 
can  do  more — or  less."  With  a  curt  inclination  of  the 
head  he  joined  his  companions,  leaving  O'Flynn  to  mur- 
mur, "Very  true." 

Master  Burden  now  presented  the  fat,  bald  man  who 
had  lagged  behind  his  comrades  with  a  gloomy  expression 
on  his  plump  cheeks.  "Here,"  he  said,  "is  Master  Tul- 
pin,  our  brisk  comedian — 'the  merriest  man  within  the 
limits  of  becoming  mirth/  as  Will  says." 

Master  Tulpin  looked  at  O'Flynn  with  an  expression  of 
profound  despair.  "Fate,  sir,"  he  said,  in  a  heavy  voice, 
"has  chosen  that  I  shall  be  funny,  that  I  shall  make  multi- 
tudes rock  with  laughter,  but  I  have  that  within  which 
knows  not  mirth." 

Flynn's  sympathies  were  instantly  aroused  by  the  poor 
fellow's  evident  distress.     "Indigestion,  begad,"  he  sug- 
gested;  "try  a  little  brandy." 
106 


THE   RHYME   OF   THE   PLAYERS 

The  fat  man  glared  at  him.  "No,  sir,"  he  fumed,  "it 
is  not  indigestion,  it  is  ambition." 

"Try  a  little  brandy  all  the  same,"  O'Flynn  suggested, 
in  a  consolatory  tone  of  voice. 

The  fat  man  nodded.  "  I  will,"  he  said,  and  going  apart 
to  where  the  players'  stores  were  now  displayed  upon 
O'FIynn's  table  he  followed  the  advice  just  given  him. 

Master  Burden  now  pointed  a  large,  white  hand  dramat- 
ically in  the  direction  of  the  bird-like  man  in  snuff  color, 
to  whom  he  called  attention  in  a  commanding  voice,  "And 
last  but  not  least,  Master  Beggles,  our  man  of  business." 

The  little  man  moved,  indeed  he  seemed  to  hop,  a  few 
paces  forward.  "I  thought  you  had  forgotten  me,"  he 
said,  sourly. 

Master  Burden  protested,  pompously,  "Faith,  I  don't 
think  you  would  let  yourself  be  forgotten." 

By  this  time  O'FIynn's  hurriedly  constituted  staff  of  ser- 
vants had  moved  a  large  table  that  stood  against  the  wall 
into  the  centre  of  the  room  to  be  at  the  disposal  of  the 
new-comers. 

O'Flynn  addressed  his  assembled  guests:  "I  am  your 
servant.  Welcome  to  all.  Master  Burden  is  aware  of  the 
strange  chance  which  finds  me  somewhat  ill-victualled,  but 
you  bear  your  own  provender,  so  spread  with  my  benison." 

While  he  was  speaking,  Master  Burden  arranged  the 
table  in  the  best  position  for  an  imaginary  audience,  placed 
the  chairs,  still  with  the  imaginary  audience  in  his  eye,  so 
that  any  one  of  that  phantasmal  company  could  be  able 
to  see  each  of  his  players  conveniently,  and  set  down  the 
very  substantial  viands  he  carried  with  him  upon  the  table 
with  as  great  an  air  of  dignity  and  magnificence  as  he  was 
wont  to  use  with  the  pasteboard  mummies  which  serve  to 
107 


THE   O'FLYNN 

represent  the  feasts  of  Alexander  and  the  tragic  banquets 
of  Macbeth. 

The  O'Flynn  took  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  table  with 
Fancy  Free  on  one  side  of  him  and  Mistress  Oldmixon  on 
the  other,  the  two  ladies  vying  with  each  other  in  the 
exuberance  of  their  attentions  to  their  host.  Opposite 
to  O'Flynn  sat  Burden  flanked  by  Winshaw  and  Tulpin. 
Master  Beggles  blinked  birdlike  by  the  side  of  Mistress 
Oldmixon,  and  Master  Conamur,  with  a  sour  smile  on  his 
pretty  face,  strove,  with  no  great  success,  to  distract  Mis- 
tress Free  from  her  patent  interest  in  the  O'Flynn.  Coin, 
Gosling,  and  O'Rourke  busied  themselves  in  the  service  of 
the  guests,  with  expressions  of  countenance  that  showed 
how  great  and  how  painful  were  their  efforts  at  restraint 
in  the  presence  of  so  ample  a  display  of  provender. 
O'Flynn,  himself,  for  all  his  sense  of  dignity,  could  scarcely 
prevent  an  expression  of  admiration  from  disturbing  the 
calm  demeanor  he  endeavored  to  retain  at  the  sight  of  the 
magnificent  ham  which  Master  Burden  was  now  boldly 
attacking  with  dexterous  knife  and  fork. 

"What  a  beautiful  ham,"  he  murmured,  and  Burden, 
attracted  by  the  gloating  rapture  in  his  voice,  poised  a  pink 
fragment  on  the  fork. 

"Pray,  take  a  slice,"  he  said. 

O'Flynn  waved  the  proffered  gift  away.  "I  really  don't 
think  I  could,"  he  protested,  but  then  observing,  to  his 
horror,  that  Burden  was  taking  his  protestation  in  good 
part  and  removing  the  coveted  slice  he  made  a  wild  gesture 
to  stay  Burden's  action,  which  resulted  in  the  desired  mor- 
sel finding  its  way  in  one  moment  to  O'Flynn's  plate,  in 
the  next  to  O'Flynn's  mouth,  and  the  third  to  O'Flynn's 
stomach.  "Well,  since  you  are  so  pressing.  I  seem  to 
108 


THE   RHYME   OF   THE   PLAYERS 

be  always  eating,"  he  murmured,  as  the  delectable  flesh 
disappeared  from  view. 

The  ice,  thus  broken,  and  O'Flynn's  effort  at  stoical  re- 
solve melted,  the  feast  progressed  gaily.  The  actors,  al- 
ways good  trencher-fellows,  ate  and  drank  merrily.  Flynn, 
for  his  part,  fed  with  an  appetite  that  nothing  but  a  long 
course  of  semi-starvation  could  justify  or  excuse.  At  the 
same  time,  however,  it  must  be  recorded  to  his  credit  that 
he  kept  his  word  to  his  retainers  and  surreptitiously  sup- 
plied those  hungry  vassals  with  fragments  of  chicken, 
slices  of  ham,  and  portions  of  boar's  head  which  he  pre- 
tended to  acquire  for  himself,  and  distributed  skilfully  as 
opportunity  offered.  When  serious  inroads  had  been  made 
into  the  players'  victuals,  and  when  several  flagons  of  Bur- 
gundy had  been  emptied  in  the  drinking  of  many  healths, 
the  silence  that  had  properly  enough  brooded  over  the 
business  of  satisfying  hunger  was  allowed  to  dissipate. 

Fancy  Free,  laying  a  fairly  white  hand  affectionately 
upon  O'Flynn's  dingy  sleeve,  questioned  him.  "Do  you 
never  feel  lonely  in  this  queer  old  place  ?" 

O'Flynn  gave  a  great  sigh  of  satisfaction.  He  had  eaten, 
as  he  calculated,  enough  to  keep  him  alive  for  at  least  a 
week  if  no  other  provisions  came  his  way,  and  he  drained 
a  mug  of  Burgundy  now  before  answering  the  player-girl's 
question,  eying  her  over  the  dwindling  crimson  flood  with 
the  admiration  born  of  unexpected  good  cheer.  "Devil  a 
bit,"  he  protested,  as  he  set  down  the  vessel  with  a  jolly 
laugh.  "Sure,  I've  got  the  ghosts  of  my  ancestors  to  keep 
me  company." 

Mistress  Oldmixon,  who  affected  extreme  sensibility  to 
an  almost  old-maidenish  degree,  though  there  was  nothing 
old-maidenish  either  in  her  opulent  appearance  or  her 
109 


THE   O'FLYNN 

opulent  nature,  affected  to  shiver.  "Lud,  sir,"  she  pro- 
tested, "never  talk  of  such  things.  You  give  me  the 
shudders." 

While  O'Flynn  was  endeavoring  to  soothe  the  good  lady's 
ruffled  emotions,  Master  Winshaw,  that  had  caught  a 
word  of  the  conversation  and  was  inspired  by  it  to  auto- 
biography, leaned  forward  and  addressed  O'Flynn  gravely. 
"I  have  played  the  ghost  in  Hamlet  with  much  success." 

O'Flynn  stared  at  him,  failing  to  see  the  relevancy  of  the 
remark  to  which  no  one  else  paid  any  heed. 

Mistress  Free  continued  to  ply  her  companion  with 
questions.  "Were  your  ancestors  such  pleasant  fellows 
as  you  ?" 

Flynn  laughed  louder  than  before.  The  repeated  bowls 
of  Burgundy,  following  upon  the  previous  potations  of 
punch,  though  they  could  have  but  little  serious  effect  upon 
his  seasoned  head,  were  producing  the  result  of  making 
him  amazingly  merry,  confidential,  and  inclined  to  good- 
fellowship.  "I'm  afraid,"  he  said,  "some  of  them  were 
a  bit  wild,  young  lady.  I  could  tell  you  such  stories,  but 
I  won't — "  he  paused  with  a  jolly  laugh  that  suggested 
such  possibilities  of  good  narrative  that  Fancy  immediately 
clasped  her  hands  and  entreated  him  to  continue,  while 
Mistress  Oldmixon,  that  was  beginning  to  resent  Fancy's 
undue  share  of  the  attentions  of  their  host,  protested 
against  the  suggestion.  "Fie,  Fancy,  bold  girl,  for 
shame!" 

The  slight  altercation  that  ensued  between  the  two  ladies 
was  interrupted  by  Tulpin,  who,  with  a  manner  of  a  man 
habitually  gloomy,  levelled  a  question  across  the  table  at 
O'Flynn.  "How  do  you  employ  your  time?"  he  asked, 
in  such  a  voice  of  melancholy  as  might  have  been  used  by 
no 


THE   RHYME   OF   THE   PLAYERS 

the  man  that  plucked  back  Priam's  curtain  and  told  him 
tall  Troy  was  burning. 

O'Flynn  was  too  merry  to  be  depressed  by  the  quality  of 
Tulpin's  question  and  he  answered  its  purport  gaily. 
"Fine  days  I  tramp  the  country-side.  Wet  days,  and  we 
have  them  occasionally — "  he  admitted,  apologetically. 

Burden  raised  his  hands  in  a  theatrical  manner.  "Oh, 
my  dear  sir,"  he  said,  with  mock  despair. 

Tulpin  persisted  alike  in  his  gloom  and  his  curiosity. 
"Well,  then,  on  wet  days  ?" 

"Why,  I  sit  by  the  fire  and  string  rhymes,"  Flynn  con- 
fessed. 

The  confession  stirred  Fancy  to  a  fresh  interest  in  her 
companion.  "Lord,  now,  are  you  a  poet?"  she  cried. 
"How  lively." 

Burden  instantly  rose  from  his  seat  and  addressed 
O'Flynn  in  his  most  pompous  manner.  "Indeed,  sir,  is 
this  so  ?  Have  you  a  tragedy  or  a  comedy  in  your  pocket  ?" 

O'Flynn  modestly  deprecated  the  suggestion.  "Noth- 
ing of  the  kind,"  he  declared.  "I'm  not  a  serious  poet. 
But  I  got  the  way  when  I  followed  the  wars  of  making 
verses  about  this  and  that  to  while  away  the  dull  hours." 

Master  Conamur,  having  failed  through  all  this  time  to 
attract  the  attention  of  Mistress  Free,  now  made  a  bold 
bid  for  the  attention  of  the  company.  "Very  commend- 
able, too,"  he  said,  in  a  loud  voice,  "and  genteel.  Many 
of  my  noble  friends  in  town  condescend  to  woo  the  muse 
at  their  leisure." 

Nobody  paid  him  any  heed.  Fancy  snuggled  closer  to 
O'Flynn.  "  Dear  soldierman,"  she  pleaded,  "  ring  us  some 
rhymes  now." 

O'Flynn  would  fain  deny  her.  "Madam,"  he  said,  "I 
ill 


THE   O'FLYNN 

have  not  Mr.  Dryden's  mind,  to  do  justice  to  tragedy 
and  comedy  in  a  breath." 

But  Fancy  was  not  to  be  baffled  so  lightly.  "Nay,"  she 
insisted,  "now  something  to  please  me.  I  never  met  a 
poet  before  that  I  likedo" 

By  this  time  Conamur's  exasperation  at  Fancy's  admira- 
tion for  Flynn  had  reached  its  height,  and  he  was  deter- 
mined to  air  his  satire.  "Nay,  nay,"  he  cried,  shrilly, 
"never  vex  the  gentleman.  These  private  poets  always 
need  a  week  or  so  to  prepare  their  impromptus  and  ex- 
tempores." 

The  rest  of  the  players,  and  especially  the  two  ladies, 
looked  reprovingly  upon  the  juvenile  and  his  ill-mannered 
impertinence,  but  O'Flynn  took  the  insolence  in  good  part. 
He  was  so  blithe  with  food  and  wine  that  he  could  have 
afforded  to  ignore  grosser  offences  than  that  of  the  little 
fellow  in  the  lavender  habit,  who  looked  so  like  a  girl  in 
boy's  clothes. 

"Come  now,"  he  said,  jollily,  "that  rings  like  a  chal- 
lenge— a  thing  I  never  pass.  So  with  your  permission, 
ladies,  I  will  rhyme  you  some  rhymes  now  on  yourselves 
and  your  trade  after  a  fashion  that  I  learned  from  a  French 
musketeer  in  Flanders." 

As  he  spoke  he  rose  to  his  feet,  his  busy  imagination 
already  tossing  rhymes  about  and  his  gaze  fixed  steadily 
upon  the  company. 

"  Bravo,  bravo,"  Fancy  screamed  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight, 
while  the  rest  of  the  players,  welcoming  the  promised 
entertainment,  rattled  their  knives  approvingly  upon  their 
plates,  with  the  exception  of  Master  Conamur,  who 
thrusting  back  his  chair  a  little,  sat  with  his  hands  in 
his  breeches  pockets,  the  incarnation  of  sullen  discontent. 
112 


THE   RHYME   OF   THE   PLAYERS 

To  the  O'Flynn,  trained  as  he  had  been  in  his  youth 
in  the  art  of  improvisation,  by  the  peasants  who  had  been 
his  friends,  there  was  nothing  so  surprising  in  the  feat  he 
now  proposed,  as  it  appeared  to  his  audience.  Resting 
one  hand  lightly  upon  the  table  and  glancing  alternately 
at  Mistress  Free  and  Mistress  Oldmixon,  he  was  already 
planning  the  lines  upon  which  his  as  yet  unborn  poem 
was  to  run. 

"And  look  you,"  he  said,  as  the  storm  of  applause 
aroused  by  his  announcement  died  away,  "if  I  halt  or 
boggle  or  fail  to  make  good,  I  will  pay  what  penalty  your 
prettinesses  may  please  to  pronounce.  So  here  goes  for 
the  ballad  of  the  strolling  player."  With  that  the  O'Flynn, 
who  had  found  a  scheme  for  his  song,  began  to  recite  in 
a  loud  and  sufficiently  musical  voice: 

"A  stick  of  paint,  a  twist  of  hair, 

A  scarlet  mouth — a  scarlet  nose — 
A  velvet  coat  the  worse  for  wear, 

A  pair  of  parti-colored  hose — 
A  gilded  crown  with  glass  arrayed; 

A  wooden  sword,  a  buckram  shield — 
These  are  the  actors'  stock-in-trade, 

Since  Thespis  drove  his  cart  afield." 

While  he  had  been  improvising  these  lines  with  a 
rapidity  which  astonished  a  company  unused  to  practice 
of  the  art,  the  players  had  glanced  at  one  another  with 
smiles  of  appreciative  amusement,  and  as  O'Flynn  flung 
the  last  line  of  his  verse,  which  indeed  had  been  the  first 
line  that  had  come  into  his  head,  across  the  table,  they 
renewed  their  plaudits  lustily. 
"3 


THE   O'FLYNN 

"A  pleasant  humor,"  Tulpin  commented,  mournfully. 

The  O'Flynn  gave  no  time  for  further  comment.  He 
was  well  in  the  saddle  of  his  Pegasus  now  and  spurred  his 
steed  gallantly.  Rhymes  seemed  to  be  tumbling  in  upon 
him  from  all  directions  and  words  shaping  themselves 
obligingly  to  his  desire.  He  started  again: 

"A  merry  man,  a  minion  fair; 

A  brace  of  friends,  a   brace  of  foes, 
And  lovers  twain,  a  troublous  pair, 

Full  of  their  wooing  and  their  woes; 
A  salary  that's  seldom  paid, 

A  hunger  gallantly  concealed — 
These  are  the  actors'  stock-in-trade, 

Since  Thespis  drove  his  cart  afield." 

As  he  paused  he  received  renewed  applause. 

Fancy  screamed  with  delight,  "What  a  satirical  wit!" 
And  Burden  thundered,  "Continue,  sir — pray  continue." 

Flynn,  who  had  taken  advantage  of  the  pause  to  review 
his  rhythmical  forces,  was  ready  to  renew  the  enterprise. 
He  began  again: 

"A-journeying  ever  here  and  there, 

Thro*  sun  and  rain,  thro'  dusts  and  snows, 
With  shoes  that  s^dly  need  repair, 

The  merry-hearted  mummer  goes. 
And  often,  when  the  play  is  played, 

The  audience  naught  but  once  will  yield. 
These  are  the  actors'  stock-in-trade, 

Since  Thespis  drove  his  cart  afield." 

Again  the  plates  rattled  on  the  table,  again  the  roar  of 
laughter  rang  from  man  to  man,  though  Mistress  Old- 
114 


THE   RHYME   OF   THE   PLAYERS 

mixon's  sensitiveness  was  so  affected  by  the  picture 
presented  in  the  later  lines  that  she  was  obliged  to  produce 
a  lace-edged  handkerchief  and  to  sit  for  a  moment  or  so 
like  Niobe,  all  tears. 

Master  Winshaw  leaned  forward  and  addressed  the 
improvisatore  with  a  grim  smile.  "I  vow,  sir,"  he  said, 
"you  see  us  with  a  roguish  eye." 

O'Flynn  had  already  perceived  that  he  had  allowed  his 
humorous  muse  perhaps  to  dwell  a  little  too  long  upon  the 
tragic-comedy  of  the  players'  life  and  that  it  was  time  now 
to  redress  the  balance.  "Nay,  nay,"  he  said,  "there's  a 
fine  moral  in  my  tag,"  and  without  a  pause  he  flung 
himself  into  his  envoy: 

"Singer,  for  shame — a  magic  blade, 

A  magic  wand  the  players  wield, 
These  are  the  actors'  stock-in-trade, 
Since  Thespis  drove  his  cart  afield." 


XII 

THE    HIDDEN    TREASURE 

THE  players  applauded  lustily  at  this  honorable  con- 
clusion, gratifying  alike  to  their  vanity  and  to  the 
incantations  of  their  art.  Even  over  Tulpin's  solemn 
countenance  a  ray  of  satisfaction  stole  and  the  sneer  on 
Conamur's  face  degenerated  into  a  simper.  As  for  the 
women,  their  enthusiasm  for  their  hero  flamed  into 
exultation. 

Fancy  flung  her  white  arms  about  O'Flynn's  neck, 
crying,  "I  swear  you  shall  have  a  kiss  for  your  wit."  And 
Mistress  Oldmixon — not  to  be  outdone — did  him  the  same 
kind  office  with  her  plumper  limbs,  swearing,  "Indeed  he 
deserves  it." 

One  after  another  the  women  gave  Flynn  kisses,  which 
he  returned  cheerfully  enough,  while  Burden  rose  from 
his  place  at  the  foot  of  the  table  with  lifted  glass  and  voice 
of  solemn  enthusiasm : 

"Sir,  your  good  health,"  he  said,  richly.  "I  can  take  a 
joke,  I  thank  Heaven,  and  you  have  a  merry  disposition." 

The  simper  on  Conamur's  face  wrinkled  back  into  the 
former  sneer.  "Your  muse,"  he  said,  sourly,  "has  a  sharp 
eye  for  the  players'  patches  and  tatters  .  .  .  .yet  she  is 
none  too  well  housed  herself,  I  take  it.  Your  castle  seems 
to  be  sadly  out  of  repair."  He  glanced  about  him  as  he 
116 


THE   HIDDEN   TREASURE 

spoke  with  a  malignant  irony  of  observation  that  missed 
nothing  of  the  penury  and  wretchedness  of  his  surroundings. 

But  O'Flynn's  good  -  humor  was  not  to  be  troubled. 
"Ah,  you  have  noticed  that,"  he  said,  pleasantly.  "Clever 
lad,  keen  lad.  Yes,  yes,  it  is  perhaps  a  thought  ram- 
shackle. But  indeed  I  like  it  thus.  It  is  so  pleasantly 
cool  in  summer." 

Most  of  the  players  laughed  at  their  host's  pleasant 
acceptation  of  his  situation,  but  Conamur  was  not  to  be 
so  placated.  "And  what  about  the  winter?"  he  snarled. 

Burden  was  annoyed  at  the  ungracious  attitude  taken 
up  by  his  leading  juvenile,  and  he  showed  his  annoyance 
now  and  plainly  speaking  with  a  frowning  face,  "Keep 
your  questions  to  yourself,  my  boy,"  he  commanded. 

Conamur  surrendered  into  sulky  silence  and  Fancy  Free 
hugged  O'Flynn's  arm. 

"Never  mind  him,"  she  said.  "He's  mad  jealous 
because  I  show  a  liking  for  you." 

O'Flynn  nodded  affably  in  the  direction  of  the  fop. 
"Nay,  nay,"  he  said,  "let  the  young  gentleman  speak. 
He  shows  an  inquiring  mind,  a  thing  to  be  admired."  He 
glanced  round  at  the  assembled  faces  with  the  manner  of 
one  who  magnanimously  made  a  great  admission. 

"The  fact  is,  friends,  my  ancestral  mansion  is  a  little 
shabby.  It  has  been  neglected  in  my  absence,  but  now 
that  I  am  home  again  all  shall  soon  be  mended." 

Burden  wagged  his  great  head  in  approval  of  the  needed 
restoration.  "It  will  cost  a  pretty  penny,  I'm  thinking," 
he  mused. 

O'Flynn  took  him  up  lightly.  "What  if  it  does?"  he 
laughed,  "money  is  nothing  to  me." 

Conamur  could  and  would  keep  silent  no  longer.  He 
117 


THE   O'FLYNN 

saw  his  chance  of  saying  an  unpleasant  word  and  said  it. 
"Is  it  because  you  haven't  got  any  ?"  he  sneered. 

There  was  a  general  chorus  of  reprobation  of  the  young 
gentleman's  effrontery,  but  O'Flynn  only  showed  amuse- 
ment. When  the  hum  of  disapproval  had  died  away 
he  looked  at  Conamur  with  a  smile. 

"The  young  gentleman  is  a  wit,"  he  said,  "and  he  hits 
in  the  inner  ring.  But  my  empty  pockets — my  empty 
coffers  will  be  full  again — full  to  overflowing,  soon  enough." 

Conamur  grinned  a  grin  of  incredulity.  "Indeed — 
when  ?"  he  questioned  with  insinuating  disbelief. 

Now  this  was  indeed  the  very  question  which  the  O'Flynn 
found  it  hard  to  answer.  Flushed  with  food  and  wine 
and  applause,  with  unfamiliar  fellowship,  and  unfamiliar 
mirth,  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be  carried  away  by  the 
geniality  of  the  situation  and  he  believed  himself  for  the 
moment  to  be  what  each  of  his  ancestors  had  been  one 
after  another,  the  wealthy  and  hospitable  host  of  a  well- 
plenished  dwelling.  Thus  he  had  allowed  himself  to  say 
what  came  into  his  mind  without  troubling  himself  very 
particularly  as  to  its  exact  meaning  or  its  exact  accuracy, 
and  the  sudden  challenge  of  Conamur  brought  him  up 
sharply.  He  had  had  some  hazy  idea  when  he  spoke  of 
his  empty  pockets  and  their  probable  speedy  filling,  that 
the  proverbial  luck  of  the  O'Flynns  would  perform  the 
necessary  miracle,  but  when  that  miracle  had  to  be  express- 
ed in  terms  intelligible  to  ordinary  mortals  the  O'Flynn 
was  for  a  moment  gravelled.  Only  for  a  moment,  however, 
then  he  thought  of  the  legendary  wealth  which  he  had 
wasted  some  precious  hours  in  pursuing,  and  he  determined 
to  turn  the  fancy  to  advantage.  He  laid  a  finger  to  his 
lips  and  glanced  around  at  the  company  mysteriously. 
118 


THE   HIDDEN    TREASURE 

Then  he  removed  the  lifted  finger  and  whispered,  "When 
the  time  comes  to  make  use  of  the  hidden  treasure." 

The  players  glanced  at  each  other  in  surprise. 

Burden  concentrated  the  general  curiosity  into  a 
definite  question.  "What  hidden  treasure?"  he  asked. 

O'Flynn  was  now  fairly  embarked  on  the  fairy  argosy 
of  romance  and  was  not  inclined  to  allow  trifles  to  inter- 
rupt his  voyage.  His  nimble  fancy  rapidly  supplied  him 
with  what  for  the  moment  seemed  to  him  to  be  facts.  He 
answered  Burden's  question  with  a  glibness  which  de- 
lighted while  it  surprised  him. 

"My  grandfather's  buried  treasure.  It's  a  strange 
story,  but  it's  worth  your  attention.  Not  far  from  where 
we  sit  is  a  treasure  whose  possession  will  make  me  rich 
among  the  rich.  My  grandfather  was  a  miser — a  vile 
fault.  He  hoarded  and  hid,  and  hoarded  again,  and  hid 
again,  till  the  walls  of  this  old  castle  are  like  so  many  gold 
mines."  He  gave  a  sigh  of  satisfaction  as  he  spun  this 
amazing  yarn,  and  felt  in  the  best  of  tempers  with  himself 
because  he  found  that  for  the  moment  he  was  seriously 
believing  in  the  story  he  had  told  so  gayly. 

But  even  as  he  basked  in  the  admiration  and  the  interest 
which  showed  themselves  on  the  faces  of  the  players,  and 
even  as  he  tried  to  close  his  ears  to  the  ill-suppressed 
chuckles  of  O'Rourke  behind  his  chair,  Master  Conamur 
nipped  in  to  trouble  his  allusions  with  a  sneapingwind  of 
cynicism.  "But  if  this  be  so,"  he  asked,  with  a  snarling 
drawl,  "why  do  you  cut  such  a  poor  figure  ?" 

Once  again  O'Flynn  found  his  invention  at  first  stayed 
and  then  spurred  by  the  pertinacity  of  the  sham  exquisite. 
He  tossed  the  problem  about  in  his  brain  for  a  second  or 
so  and  then  found  a  prompt  and  plausible  explanation. 

9  119 


THE   O'FLYNN 

"By  the  terms  of  his  will,"  he  declared,  "I  am  bound  under 
pain  of  disinheritance  not  to  touch  one  penny  of  the  treas- 
ure until  the  midnight  of  Midsummer  Day  next.  Then  I 
shall  be  indeed  rich.  But,  as  in  the  mean  time  I  have  noth- 
ing to  live  upon,  I  propose  to  tramp  to  Dublin  and  get  a 
lawyer  to  raise  me  a  trifle  upon  my  prospects." 

The  smooth,  solemn  countenance  of  Master  Burden  sud- 
denly rippled  with  good-natured  benevolence,  and  he 
raised  a  full,  white  hand  in  friendly  protest.  "Nay,  good 
sir,"  he  cried,  "wherefore  should  you  tramp  ?  Enliven  us 
with  your  fellowship.  We  will  carry  you  to  Dublin  gladly 
for  the  sake  of  your  company." 

O'Flynn  smiled  cheerfully  at  the  master  player's  pro- 
posal. It  seemed  like  a  good  omen  which  suggested  that 
Fate  was  giving  him  a  friendly  jog.  '"Faith,  it's  a  kind 
offer,"  he  declared,  "and  I've  a  mind  to  shake  hands  on  it." 

"Do  so,  do  so,"  Burden  urged,  warmly.  "Our  ladies 
claim  the  coach,  but  you  are  welcome  to  a  place  in  our 
wain." 

The  pretty,  impish  face  of  Fancy  Free  was  flushed  with 
delight  at  the  thought  of  the  proposed  companionship. 
She  hung  on  O'Flynn's  arms  and  looked  up  into  his  eyes 
engagingly.  "Be  persuaded,  merry  soldierman,"  she 
pleaded.  "You  shall  make  songs  for  us  through  every 
stage  of  the  journey." 

Master  Conamur,  that  was  now  provoked  beyond  all 
patience  by  the  prospect  of  the  further  companionship  of 
the  mad  Irishman,  for  so  to  himself  he  styled  his  host, 
made  his  little  effort  to  prevent  the  proposed  plan.  "You 
will  find  it  mighty  rough  travelling  in  the  wain,  I  promise 
you,"  he  said  to  the  O'Flynn  in  the  tone  of  one  that  de- 
livers in  time  a  friendly  warning. 
120 


THE   HIDDEN   TREASURE 

But  O'Flynn  was  not  to  be  dissuaded  by  any  vague 
hints  of  discomfort.  "Sir,"  he  answered,  cheerfully,  "I 
have  travelled  on  a  cannon-carriage  and  slept  like  a  baby." 

What  Master  Conamur  would  fain  have  said  to  dissaude 
O'Flynn  from  his  journey  was  stayed  by  Master  Burden, 
who  laid  his  large  hand  affectionately  upon  O'Flynn's 
shoulder.  "There  is  but  this  to  it,"  he  said,  "that  you 
make  up  your  mind  quickly,  for  I  take  it  our  wheel  is 
mended  by  now  and  we  must  be  jogging." 

By  this  time  all  the  company  were  on  their  feet  and  full 
of  the  bustle  of  imminent  departure.  O'Flynn  nodded 
acquiescence.  "An  old  soldier  needs  little  preparation  for 
a  march,"  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  took  up  the  old  valise  that 
lay  in  a  corner  of  the  hall  and  clapped  a  pair  of  pistols 
into  it. 

While  he  was  thus  engaged,  and  while  the  other  mem- 
bers of  Master  Burden's  Riverside  Fellowship  of  Players 
were  packing  together  the  remains  of  their  provisions  and 
their  cups  and  other  table  utensils,  the  bird-like  individual 
in  the  snuff-colored  garments  that  had  been  designated  by 
Burden  as  Master  Beggles,  after  a  cautious  glance  around 
him  to  see  that  the  others  were  not  taking  note  of  his  ac- 
tion, drew  near  to  Flynn  and  plucked  him  by  the  skirt  of 
his  soiled  white  coat  and  addressed  him  in  a  low  voice. 
"Sir,"  he  murmured,  "I  crave  your  attention." 

O'Flynn  shut  the  valise  to  with  a  snap  and  turned  to  his 
interlocutor.  "At  your  service,"  he  said,  simply. 

Master  Beggles  fixed  him  with  an  inquiring  eye  and 
pointed  a  lean  forefinger  in  sign  of  interrogation.  "This 
treasure  you  talk  of,"  he  said,  and  there  was  a  kind  of 
anxiety  in  his  voice  which  for  the  moment  puzzled  O'Flynn, 
"is  it  very  vast  ?" 

121 


THE   O'FLYNN 

O'Flynn  was  now  so  deeply  committed  to  his  imaginary 
treasure  that  he  had  come  to  have  a  kind  of  credence  in  its 
existence  himself,  and  he  was  not  disposed  to  let  his  imagi- 
nary wealth  suffer  any  depreciation  from  his  mouth.  So, 
with  a  jaunty  air  of  carelessness,  he  answered  Master 
Beggles.  "That  is  as  you  may  reckon  it."  He  paused 
for  a  second  or  so  as  if  to  make  some  swift  calculations  and 
then  added,  "About  a  million  of  pounds  to  an  odd  penny 
or  so." 

Master  Beggles  held  up  both  his  hands  with  a  rapture 
of  admiration.  "A  million  of  pounds,"  he  murmured, 
"magnificent." 

By  this  time  Flynn  was  convinced  that  his  estimate  of 
his  mysterious  fortune  was  no  more  than  just,  and  the 
joviality  of  his  manner  seemed  to  irradiate  warmth  and 
thaw  the  harshness  upon  the  face  of  Master  Beggles.  "I 
have  never  had  so  much  to  spend  in  my  life,"  he  protested. 
"I  shall  enjoy  myself,  I  promise  you." 

In  his  fancy  he  saw  himself  in  Dublin  pitching  his 
guineas  recklessly,  but  at  the  same  time,  something  shrewd 
in  his  character  urged  him  to  study  curiously  the  appealing 
countenance  of  Master  Beggles. 

Master  Beggles,  now  with  hands  clasped  as  if  in  prayer, 
began  with  a  stammering  eagerness  that  puzzled  and 
amused  his  hearer.  "If  you  will  pardon  my  presumption," 
he  said,  "in  meddling  with  your  affairs  I  should  advise 
you  to  go  to  no  Dublin  lawyer." 

O'Flynn  stared  at  him.  "  Indeed,  and  why  not  ?"  he  asked. 

Master  Beggles  was  quick  to  explain.     "Lawyers  are 

queer  cattle;   best  keep  clear  of  them.     What  you  want  is 

some  sober  reputable  citizen  who  has  got  a  little  money 

put  by  and  is  ready  to  lend  it  on  reasonable  interest, 

122 


THE   HIDDEN   TREASURE 

reasonable    interest,    I    say,    not   such    as   those    Dublin 
sharks  expect." 

Some  vague  idea  of  what  the  business  man  of  the 
Riverside  Fellowship  of  Players  was  driving  at  began  to 
enter  the  O'Flynn's  head,  an  idea  that  seemed  prepos- 
terous and  yet  after  all  was  not  impossible.  But  he  took 
good  care  to  show  no  sign  of  his  suspicions  and  asked 
with  a  great  air  of  innocence,  "But  where  am  I  to  find 
such  an  one  ?" 

Master  Beggles  turned  the  tips  of  his  fingers  against 
his  chest  and  tapped  it  significantly.  "Just  here,"  he 
answered,  "under  your  nose.  I  have  put  by  a  consider- 
able sum,  but  acting  is  an  uncertain  trade  in  these  days, 
and  I  should  like  my  store  to  increase  and  multiply.  I 
shall  be  pleased  to  advance  you  such  sums  as  you  may 
require  until  you  can  touch  your  treasure." 

O'Flynn  regarded  his  unexpected  friend  with  gratified 
amazement.  The  man  was  obviously  in  earnest.  The 
man  actually  proposed  to  put  money  into  Flynn's  pocket 
on  the  strength  of  a  chimerical  treasure.  To  do  the 
O'Flynn  justice,  that  treasure  was  no  longer  chimerical 
in  his  mind.  He  believed  in  its  existence  firmly  and 
regarded  Master  Beggles's  proposition  as  a  very  sensible 
business  offer. 

"The  devil  you  will,"  he  said,  and  tried  not  to  seem  too 
delighted  as  he  said  it. 

Master  Beggles  coughed  discreetly.  "On  reasonable 
interest,  of  course,"  he  added. 

The  O'Flynn  pretended  to  be  wary,  pretended  to  be 
prudent,  pretended  to  be  business-like.  "What  do  you 
call  reasonable  interest  ?"  he  questioned  with  a  well- 
assumed,  air  of  cunning. 

123 


THE   O'FLYNN 

Master  Beggles  coughed  again.  "Shall  we  say  ten 
per  cent  ?"  he  suggested,  doubtfully. 

The  O'Flynn  pushed  the  proposal  away  with  a  great 
sweep  of  the  arm.  "I  wouldn't  rob  you,"  he  declared, 
with  a  ring  of  indignation  in  his  voice.  "It  must  be 
twenty  or  nothing."  And  then  as  he  saw  the  gleam  of 
gratified  cupidity  in  the  eyes  of  the  bird-like  man  of  busi- 
ness, "Oh,  Master  Beggles,"  he  cried,  "it  is  the  glad  man 
you  will  be,  come  midsummer,  when  we  dip  our  hands 
into  the  treasure  together." 

Master  Beggles  beamed  upon  him.  "Till  then,  sir," 
he  entreated,  "pray  consider  me  your  banker." 

In  such  a  matter  the  O'Flynn  required  no  lengthy 
process  of  persuasion.  "I  will,"  he  answered,  instantly, 
and  extended  a  ready  palm.  "To  begin  with,  lend  me 
twenty  guineas." 

Not  a  little  to  his  surprise,  for  the  whole  episode  was  so 
like  a  fairy-tale  that  he  could  scarcely  credit  its  reality, 
Master  Beggles  dipped  his  hand  into  a  capacious  side- 
pocket,  produced  a  well-filled  purse,  and  without  hesita- 
tion counted  into  O'Flynn's  palm  the  twenty  golden  coins 
demanded.  O'Flynn  eyed  them  lovingly.  It  was  many 
a  long  day  since  he  had  even  seen  so  much  money,  not  to 
speak  of  possessing  it,  but  he  controlled  his  emotion  with 
spartan  fortitude. 

"Make  a  note  of  it,"  he  commanded  his  newly  acquired 
banker,  with  the  manner  of  a  man  to  whom  such  a  trans- 
action is  a  matter  of  every-day  occurrence.  Then  while 
Master  Beggles  produced  from  another  pocket  a  note- 
book and  proceeded  formally  to  enter  the  amount  loaned, 
O'Flynn  whispered  in  his  ear,  "And  now,  if  you'll  excuse 
me,  I've  a  trifle  of  private  business  to  settle  before  we 
124 


THE   HIDDEN    TREASURE 

start."  He  left  Master  Beggles  entering  in  his  note-book 
the  first  item  of  his  account  with  the  O'Flynn,  and  beckoned 
to  O'Rourke,  who  came  shuffling  toward  him. 

"Conachor,  old  friend,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  'tis  to 
Dublin  I'm  going  this  blessed  minute  to  make  my  fortune." 

The  little  man  that  ought  to  be  King  of  Munster  cried 
out  upon  his  master  in  a  wailing  voice,  "Wirra,  wirra, 
what  ails  you  to  go  flustering  about  the  world  again  when 
you've  got  a  snug  place  like  this  to  be  aisy  in  ?" 

The  O'Flynn  laid  a  friendly  hand  upon  the  little  man's 
shoulder  as  he  answered,  "There's  a  bugle  blowing, 
whose  call  I  can't  deny — there's  a  flag  flying  I've  got  to 
follow."  He  took  some  pieces  from  his  newly  acquired 
store  and  thrust  them  into  the  grimy  hand  of  his  retainer. 
"Here's  five  guineas  for  you  to  keep  you  cosey  till  I  re- 
turn." 

O'Rourke  stared  in  stupefaction  at  the  unfamiliar  coins. 
"Oh,  the  beautiful  gold  pieces,"  he  cried;  "the  noble  effi- 
gies." 

Leaving  his  majesty  to  his  ravings  over  the  guineas,  the 
O'Flynn  beckoned  to  Coin  and  Gosling,  who  were  stand- 
ing by  the  fireplace  digesting  their  welcome  and  unwonted 
meal,  and  when  they  had  joined  him,  he  placed  eleven 
of  his  guineas  in  Gosling's  hand  and  a  single  guinea  in 
the  hand  of  Coin.  "Here,"  he  said,  "is  the  quittance  of 
your  writ,  with*  a  guinea  apiece  to  sweeten  it." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  an  idea  occurred  to 
him.  A  gentleman  of  his  position  travelling  to  Dublin, 
ought  to  carry  some  levy  of  servants  in  his  train.  "What 
do  you  say,  friends,"  he  asked  the  two  men;  "have  you  a 
mind  to  enter  my  service  ?  You  shall  wear  fine  clothes 
and  pocket  fair  wages." 

125 


THE   O'FLYNN 

The  faces  of  the  bailiffs  glowed  with  satisfaction.  If 
they  had  liked  Flynn  when  he  was  penniless,  they  were 
prepared  to  idolize  him  now  when  he  seemed  to  be  the 
possessor  of  boundless  wealth. 

Coin  caught  at  the  suggestion  with  a  delighted  smile 
that  lent  a  quaint  expression  to  his  little  whimsical, 
wrinkled,  twisted  face.  "I  am  with  you,  sir,"  he  said. 

Gosling,  habitually  a  man  of  more  restraint  than  his 
companion,  on  this  occasion  allowed  himself  to  be  betrayed 
into  as  great  a  display  of  emotion.  "And  so  say  I,"  he 
positively  shouted. 

O'Flynn  gave  each  a  hand  on  the  shoulder.  "That's 
well,"  he  said.  "I'll  make  all  our  fortunes." 

The  little  king  in  the  corner  now  shuffled  forward.  He 
had  pocketed  his  coins  and  there  was  a  wistful  expression 
on  his  pinched  physiognomy.  "May  I  go  with  you?" 
he  said,  and  there  was  a  pathetically  affectionate  note  in 
his  voice  that  played  on  O'Flynn's  heartstrings. 

The  O'Flynn  shook  his  head.  "No,  no,  O'Rourke," 
he  protested,  "you  must  stay  here — !  He  paused  and 
then  laughed  heartily.  "You  must  stay  here  to  look  after 
the  treasure."  Fantastic  as  it  was,  he  believed  in  the 
treasure  and  he  did  not  believe  in  it,  at  one  and  the  same 
time,  and  his  henchman  and  fellow-countryman  was 
something  of  his  temper,  for  he,  too,  was  impressed,  or 
pretended  to  be  impressed  by  the  gravity  of  the  charge 
intrusted  to  him,  and  nodded  with  all  the  dignity  of  one 
that  holds  high  office. 

At  this  moment  Master  Burden,  having  ascertained  that 
his  coach  was  in  travelling  condition  again  and  that  the 
members  of  his  Fellowship  had  duly  packed  their  belong- 
ings and  were  ready  for  the  road,  came  into  the  room  with 
126 


THE   HIDDEN    TREASURE 

a  whirlwind  manner  that  suggested  Tamerlane  driving  his 
pampered  jades  of  Asia.  "Come,  friends,"  he  shouted. 
"Bustle.  To  Dublin." 

Mistress  Oldmixon  swam  across  the  room  and  thrust 
a  plump  arm  into  the  crook  of  O'Flynn's  elbow.  "Your 
arm,  pray,"  she  simpered,  "to  the  coach." 

In  an  instant,  Fancy  Free,  not  to  be  outdone,  swooped 
upon  the  other  arm  of  O'Flynn  as  swiftly  as  ever  a  king- 
fisher descends  upon  its  prey.  "Nay,  then,"  she  insisted, 
"I  must  claim  the  other  arm."  She  looked  up  with 
something  of  surprise  and  something,  it  may  be,  of  satis- 
faction at  the  smiling  face  of  the  O'Flynn.  "Why,  how 
radiant  you  seem.  Are  you  so  pleased  to  be  going  to 
Dublin  ?" 

O'Flynn  looked  at  her  in  a  rapture  and  his  heart  was  in 
his  eyes,  but  there  was  no  thought  of  Mistress  Free  in 
his  mind. 

"To  Dublin,  is  it?"  he  asked,  radiantly.  "I  feel  as  if 
I  were  going  to  heaven."  And  with  tragedy  on  one  arm 
and  comedy  on  the  other,  the  O'Flynn  of  O'Flynn  capered 
out  of  the  ruined  hall  of  his  ancestors  toward  the  place 
where  Master  Burden's  coach  and  wain  were  waiting. 


xni 

KNOCKMORE 

IF  the  historians  of  the  Jacobean  war  in  Ireland  at  the 
close  of  the  seventeenth  century  appear  to  be  leagued, 
as  it  were,  in  a  kind  of  conspiracy  to  ignore  the  famous 
and  marvellous  siege  of  Knockmore,  the  reason  is  not  far 
to  seek.  The  historic  muse  is  obsessed — or  perhaps  it 
were  truer  to  assert  that  the  servants  of  the  historic  muse 
are  obsessed — with  a  painful  sense  of  the  gravity  of  his- 
tory, its  dignity,  its  austerity.  Now  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  there  was  nothing  grave,  dignified,  or  austere  about 
the  whole  business  of  the  siege  of  Knockmore  Castle  from 
its  Hudibrastic  beginning  to  its  Gargantuan  conclusion. 
It  was  a  grotesque  episode  from  beginning  to  end,  over 
which,  of  the  few  that  concerned  themselves  with  its  doings, 
the  most  part  rocked  with  Homeric  laughter.  It  was  a 
very  burlesque  upon  all  sieges,  from  Belgrade  yesterday 
to  Troy  the  day  before  yesterday,  and  the  risibility  of  its 
case  was,  it  may  be,  deemed  reason  enough  for  giving  it  the 
go-by  when  the  time  came  for  solemn  gentlemen  in  pomp- 
ous periwigs  to  play  their  part  as  military  and  political 
historians.  Such  as  they  could  not  stomach,  with  any 
hope  of  happy  digestion,  an  episode  whose  stages  should 
have  been  chronicled  by  Rabelais,  or  Lucian,  or  Butler, 
or  some  merry  fellow  of  their  kind. 
128 


KNOCKMORE 

The  circumstances  of  the  siege  were  whimsical  from  the 
first.  The  cardinal  humor  of  the  thing  was  that  Knock- 
more  Castle  was  not,  from  any  point  of  view,  of  the 
slightest  use  to  either  of  the  two  powers  that  were  con- 
tending, under  conditions  of  so  much  difficulty,  for 
supremacy  in  Ireland.  Knockmore,  in  its  lonely  grandeur 
in  the  heart  of  the  Wicklow  hills,  carried  on  into  an  age, 
indifferent  to  their  glory,  the  fame  of  the  Norman  advent- 
urers that  had  sought  to  make  Ireland  their  own  by 
means  of  havoc  and  rapine.  Hated  as  they  deserved  to 
be,  hated  by  the  people  they  plundered,  they  had  to  make 
good  their  hold  on  the  soil  they  polluted  by  girdling 
themselves  about  with  girths  of  Titanic  masonry.  Behind 
the  grim  thickness  of  their  fortifications  they  housed  them- 
selves in  safety  against  the  anger  of  their  victims,  issuing 
from  their  strongholds  at  the  call  of  lust  or  hunger,  like  the 
robber-barons  of  the  Rhine,  to  impress  the  blessings  of 
English  civilization  upon  a  thankless  multitude. 

Of  all  the  strong  places  that  Norman  skill,  greed,  and 
cunning  had  called  into  being  in  Ireland,  no  one  was  more 
boldly  conceived  or  more  nobly  executed  than  Knockmore. 
The  site  alone  which  had  been  chosen  for  the  building 
suggested  a  strategist  of  genius.  Knockmore,  the  Great 
Hill,  was  an  elevation  so  raised  by  the  hand  of  Nature  as 
to  invite  any  intelligent  artificer  to  crown  its  summit  with 
some  kind  of  fortification.  The  curious  will  find  the  his- 
tory of  Knockmore,  from  its  foundation-stone  to  its  fall, 
in  the  obvious  sources  of  Irish  history.  They  can,  if  they 
choose,  survey  its  ruins  and  meditate  on  the  glories  of 
the  past.  For  all  that  concerns  the  chronicle  of  Flynn 
O'Flynn,  Captain  of  Austrian  dragoons,  Chevalier  of  the 
Order  of  the  Rose  of  Lithuania,  Knight  Commander  of 
129 


THE   O'FLYNN 

Poland,  and  Ambassador  Extraordinary  from  His  Majesty 
Conachor  LIL,  King  of  Munster,  to  His  Majesty  James 
II.,  King  of  England,  Scotland,  France,  and  Ireland,  De- 
fender of  the  Faith,  a  few  lines  will  serve  the  turn. 

When  the  said  King  James  made  his  raid  upon  Ireland, 
Knockmore  Castle  was  in  the  hands  of  a  more  or  less 
honest  English  gentleman  who  had  inherited  it  from  a  less 
honorable  parent  that  had  made  a  fortune  as  a  swindling 
army  commissioner  in  the  troublous  times  of  the  Common- 
wealth, and  had  bought  the  great  and  famous  place  for 
rather  less  than  it  was  worth,  as  so  much  stone  and  mortar. 
The  Lord  of  Knockmore  was  in  the  latter  days  of  the  sev- 
enteenth century  troubled  by  a  whimsical  mental  affliction 
which  would  never  allow  him  clearly  to  make  up  his  mind 
whether  his  heart  was  devoted  to  the  cause  of  the  House 
of  Stuart,  or  the  cause  of  the  House  of  Orange.  The 
right  ventricle  of  that  organ,  considering  it  politically 
rather  than  physically,  was  true-blue  Tory  and  was  all 
for  oak-apples  and  hurrah  for  the  twenty-ninth  of  May; 
while  the  right  ventricle — to  keep  up  the  analogy — pal- 
pitated with  a  fervor  of  constitutional  loyalty  to  the  schism 
of  the  great  Whig  nobles  and  the  lofty  virtues  of  William 
of  Orange. 

The  worthy  gentleman  was  in  this  vacillating  condition 
when  the  regal  appearance  of  James  in  Ireland  seemed  to 
set  the  seal  of  certainty  upon  his  legitimistic  leanings.  He 
hastened  to  make  public  his  allegiance  to  the  son  of  the 
martyr  and  to  cover  with  all  convenient  speed  the  brief 
distance  between  Knockmore  and  Dublin  to  lay,  as  it 
were,  the  keys  of  that  vast,  ancient,  but  in  a  military  sense, 
wholly  unimportant  stronghold  at  his  blessed  Majesty's 
feet.  At  the  same  time  he  endeavored  by  a  hazardous 
130 


KNOCKMORE 

embarkation  on  the  sea  of  secret  political  correspondence 
to  secure  the  favor  of  the  pliant  Whig  lords  at  Whitehall 
and  the  confidence  of  the  Dutch  notables  who  plumed 
themselves  upon  their  ability  to  govern  England  as  England 
should  be  governed.  Never  was  a  man  wholly  unsifted 
in  public  affairs  and  wholly  unskilled  in  the  arts  of  intelli- 
gent treachery  put  to  such  pains  to  preserve  his  estates  at 
the  cost  of  his  honor.  He  lied  as  vigorously  as  foolishly, 
sought  to  deceive  everybody,  succeeded  in  deceiving 
nobody,  and  fondly  believed  that  he  had  accomplished  his 
purpose,  made  himself  persona  grata  with  both  factions, 
and  secured  the  integrity  of  his  castle.  In  all  which  con- 
victions he  counted  entirely  without  the  existence  of  Luit- 
prand  van  Dronk,  of  whom  indeed  he  had  never  heard. 

Luitprand  van  Dronk  was  an  eccentric  Dutch  general 
who  believed  himself  to  be  endowed  with  the  military 
genius  of  a  Hannibal,  an  Alexander,  or  a  Caesar,  but  who 
was  chiefly  remarkable  for  a  strong  head  against  liquor, 
a  bull-like  courage,  and  a  kind  of  savage  good-humor 
that  was  scarcely  less  alarming  than  the  ferocity  of  less 
genial  ruffians.  He  was  dear  to  William  of  Orange 
because  of  the  devotion  which  he  had  shown  to  the  prince 
in  the  days  of  his  early  isolation,  a  devotion  which  he  had 
maintained  with  unchanging  fidelity  through  all  the  prince's 
changes  of  fortune.  He  was  dear  to  William  because  of 
his  amazing  courage  in  action,  a  courage  amazing  in  an 
age  of  courage,  a  recklessness  as  uncalculated  as  William's 
recklessness,  which  had  earned  him  the  magnificent  re- 
proof of  the  great  Conde,  was  calculated.  He  was  dear 
to  William  because  of  his  delight  in  the  chase,  a  delight 
as  keen  as  his  princely  master's.  But  William's  affection 
for  the  old  swashbuckler  was  not  so  great  as  to  persuade 
'31 


THE   O'FLYNN 

him  that  Van  Dronk  had  in  him  the  makings  of  a  military 
strategist.  This  difference  of  opinion  between  master 
and  man  did  nothing  to  lessen  the  devotion  of  Van  Dronk 
for  William.  The  old  soldier  merely  held  that  in  this 
instance,  and  in  this  instance  alone,  his  illustrious  master 
had  made  a  mistake,  of  which  he  would  some  day  be 
aware.  It  is  probable  that  Van  Dronk  believed  that  day 
to  be  near  at  hand  when  he  conceived  the  idea  of  affecting 
the  capture  of  Knockmore. 

Luitprand  van  Dronk  heard  of  Knockmore  Castle,  of 
the  vacillations  of  its  owner,  of  that  owner's  presence  in 
Dublin  at  the  Court  of  James  Stuart;  he  heard  also,  which 
interested  him  even  more  keenly,  that  Knockmore  was 
blessed  with  the  most  extensive  and  splendidly  stocked 
cellars  of  wine  in  all  Ireland.  Van  Dronk  loved  fine 
wine  as  passionately  as  Anacreon,  and  the  thought  of 
securing  an  unlimited  supply,  and  at  the  same  time 
inflicting  a  blow  upon  a  probable  traitor,  and  proving  his 
powers  of  military  genius  to  his  august  master,  combined 
to  turn  Luitprand's  head. 

Discipline  was  never  a  matter  that  gravely  concerned 
the  good  Van  Dronk.  He  belonged  to  the  dashing, 
smashing  school  of  soldiery  of  which  Prince  Rupert  had 
been  so  illustrious  an  example,  and  if  he  saw  a  thing  that 
he  wanted  to  do  he  did  it  with  little  regard  for  conven- 
tionalities and  less  heed  of  consequences.  In  this  instance 
there  was  Knockmore  Castle  waiting  to  be  taken  by  any 
one  who  wanted  to  take  it.  No  ordinary  soldier  would 
have  wanted  to  take  it,  for  it  could  not  possibly  be  of  the 
slightest  strategical  service  in  the  struggle  between  James 
and  William.  But  Van  Dronk  was  not  an  ordinary 
soldier  and  Van  Dronk  did  want  to  take  Knockmore  for 
132 


KNOCKMORE 

the  reasons  already  set  forth.  Therefore,  naturally  enough, 
and  from  his  own  point  of  view,  logically  enough,  Van 
Dronk  took  Knockmore.  Instead  of  marching  to  join 
Schomberg  he  diverted  his  course — and  himself — and 
made  for  Knockmore.  He  took  the  castle  of  course, 
without  the  slightest  difficulty.  It  was  as  easy  as  picking 
an  apple  from  a  tree.  No  attack  was  dreamed  of,  there 
were  no  preparations  for  defence;  there  was  but  a  small 
number  of  able-bodied  fighting-men  in  the  place  and  they 
realized  instantly  the  impossibility  of  resisting  this  tur- 
bulent Dutch  general  who  came  upon  them  from  the 
clouds,  as  it  were,  with  a  well-drilled,  well-equipped 
regiment  at  his  back,  and  summoned  them  to  surrender 
in  the  name  of  King  William.  They  followed  the  only 
sane  course  open  to  them:  they  surrendered.  General 
Van  Dronk  marched  in,  flew  the  Williamite  flag  from  the 
highest  battlements,  put  the  place  into  fitting  condition 
to  sustain  a  siege,  and  then  proceeded  to  investigate  the 
wine-cellars. 

He  found  that  the  reports  as  to  the  excellence  of  the 
liquors  that  were  stored  away  in  Knockmore  cellarage  were 
thoroughly  well  founded.  No  better  judge  of  good  vint- 
ages existed  in  all  the  Low  Countries  than  Luitprand  van 
Dronk,  and  he  was  quick  to  perceive  that  he  had  secured 
a  treasure  in  his  eyes  far  above  rubies.  For  many  hours, 
certain  of  Van  Dronk's  men,  selected  for  the  steadiness  and 
surefootedness,  were  employed  in  transferring  well-chosen 
selections  of  fine  French  wines  from  the  shady  spaces  in 
which  they  lay  below  to  the  quarters  the  General  had 
chosen  in  the  castle.  Then  the  General  began  to  drink, 
leisurely,  cheerfully,  and  gloriously. 

But  the  military  escapade  which  seemed  so  amusing  to 
133 


THE    O'FLYNN 

Luitprand  van  Dronk  afforded  very  little  entertainment 
to  King  William's  advisers  in  London,  and  a  great  deal  of 
annoyance  to  King  James  in  Dublin.  King  William's 
advisers  considered,  and  rightly  considered,  Van  Dronk's 
exploit  to  be  a  waste  of  time;  but,  as  King  William  liked 
Van  Dronk  and  seemed  inclined  to  humor  his  vagaries, 
they  set  the  taking  of  Knockmore  down  as  a  victory  and 
made  the  most  of  it  in  despatches  and  the  public  prints. 
Whereby  honest  citizens  in  London  taverns  gaped  at  the 
news  and  talked  big  of  the  progress  of  the  war  in  Ireland 
and  the  blow  that  had  been  dealt  to  the  pride  of  King 
James  by  the  capture  of  Knockmore  Castle.  In  which 
talk,  as  it  happened,  they  were  wiser  than  they  knew. 

King  James's  pride  had  been  seriously  hurt  by  Van 
Dronk's  Hudibrastic  adventure.  Among  the  weaknesses 
that  marred  a  great  character  was  a  disposition  to  make 
too  much  of  insignificant  trifles.  The  taking  of  Knock- 
more  was  just  such  an  insignificant  trifle,  but  it  exasperated 
James  beyond  all  proportion  to  its  importance.  He  con- 
ceived himself  dared  in  his  own  immediate  dominion  by 
this  whimsical  invasion  of  the  Wicklow  hills;  he  found 
himself  flouted  beyond  endurance  by  the  flying  of  the 
Williamite  flag  on  a  stronghold  that  lay  but  a  few  leagues 
from  the  walls  of  Dublin  Castle.  Naturally  enough  in  all 
this  he  was  encouraged  by  the  owner  of  Knockmore,  that 
was  furious  at  finding  his  hancj  forced,  and  was  loud  in 
urging  King  James  to  avenge  the  wrong  that  had  been 
done  to  the  subject  and  the  insult  that  had  been  offered  to 
the  monarch. 

King  James,  that  was  too  often  willing  to  listen  to  the 
counsels  of  men  that  in  their  hearts  were  traitors  to  him, 
listened  to  the  counsels  of  the  owner  of  Knockmore,  and 
134 


KNOCKMORE 

insisted,  in  the  teeth  of  wiser  advice,  on  sending  a  small 
force  to  redeem  Knockmore  and  send  the  Dutch  general 
to  the  right-about.  This,  however,  proved  easier  to  pro- 
pose than  execute.  It  was  true  that  Luitprand  van 
Dronk  had  found  it  easy  enough  to  make  himself  master 
of  Knockmore  Castle,  but  at  that  time  Knockmore  Castle 
was  held  by  no  more  than  a  handful  of  men.  Now  it 
was  excellently  well  garrisoned  by  a  mixed  force  of  Dutch 
and  English,  under  the  command  of  a  seasoned  soldier, 
who,  whatever  his  eccentricities,  knew  how  to  make  the 
best  of  a  good  situation.  When  the  Jacobean  force  made 
its  appearance  before  Knockmore  and  summoned  Van 
Dronk  to  surrender,  Van  Dronk  laughed  in  the  faces  of 
the  enemy.  If  they  wanted  Knockmore,  he  said,  they  must 
do  as  he  did,  they  must  come  and  take  it.  And  that  was 
exactly  what  the  Jacobean  force  could  not  accomplish. 
Prudence  advised  its  recall,  but  King  James  proved 
obstinate.  He  set  unexpected  store  upon  the  reduction 
of  Knockmore,  so  the  Jacobean  force  proceeded  to  invest 
and  lay  siege  to  the  castle  as  well  as  it  could. 

It  well  proved  ill  enough.  Only  a  small  number  of 
men  could  be  spared  for  what  was  known  in  Dublin  as 
the  folly  of  Knockmore;  such  guns  as  they  carried  with 
them  were  antiquated  and  worn,  and  their  powder  was  of 
a  very  poor  quality  like  most  of  the  powder  supplied  to 
King  James's  armies.  So,  though  they  formally  con- 
structed trenches,  and  carried  out  all  the  duties  of  a 
solemn  and  honorable  siege,  they  were  able  to  make  no 
more  impression  upon  the  massive  walls  that  frowned 
above  them  than  if  they  had  attempted  to  bring  about 
their  destruction  by  pelting  them  with  peas.  Van  Dronk, 
on  his  part,  lying  snug  and  comfortable  behind  his  stout 

10  135 


THE   O'FLYNN 

walls  on  his  great  rock,  abstained  from  doing  any  par- 
ticular damage  to  the  besiegers  for  the  very  good  reason 
that  Knockmore,  for  all  that  it  was  nobly  victualled,  and 
liberally  provisioned  with  wine,  numbered  among  its 
defences  but  few  engines  of  artillery,  and  Van  Dronk's 
store  of  powder  was  too  scanty  for  him  to  waste  in  needless 
volleys  at  an  enemy  that  could  not  possibly,  as  it  seemed, 
do  him  any  harm. 

Soon  the  siege  of  Knockmore,  if  still  considered  seriously 
in  London  news-sheets,  became  a  standing  joke  in  Dublin, 
a  joke  at  which  every  one  laughed  except  the  various 
officers  and  gentlemen  that  were  from  time  to  time  de- 
spatched into  the  Wicklow  hills  to  command  the  besieging 
operation,  and  to  fail  lamentably  to  make  any  impression 
on  the  defiant  fortress  and  its  bacchanalian  commander. 
The  royal  desire  to  regain  the  place  grew  daily,  and  daily 
the  royal  impatience  at  repeated  failure.  It  soon  began  to 
be  bruited  abroad  that  there  was  no  favor  which  it  lay 
in  the  king's  hands  to  confer  that  would  not  be  cheerfully 
accorded  to  the  captain  that  was  clever  enough  to  retake 
Knockmore.  The  knowledge  of  this  failed  to  attract 
capable  candidates,  for  it  was  plain  to  any  soldier  that 
under  the  conditions  existing  Knockmore  was  impregnable. 
But  it  impelled  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  to  conceive  the  in- 
genious scheme  which  he  had  laid  before  my  lords  of 
Shrewsbury  and  which  had  met  with  the  approval  of  the 
great  man.  My  Lord  Sedgemouth  had  for  some  time 
solicited  the  post  that  lay  vacant  of  First  Lord  of  the 
Bedchamber  to  His  Majesty.  The  post  lay  vacant  because 
the  nobleman  that  held  it  in  France  was  old  and  infirm, 
and  would  not  cross  the  water,  and  was  certain  soon  to 
claim  to  be  invalided.  James  had  a  liking  for  Lord 
136 


KNOCKMORE 

Sedgemouth,  who  was  gay  and  fair  to  behold,  but  for  some 
reason  or  other  he  denied  his  solicitations.  Now  it  came 
into  my  lord's  head  that  if  he  could  so  contrive  it  that 
Knockmore  should  surrender  to  him  he  would  have  such 
a  claim  on  James's  favor  as  would  entitle  him  to  the 
post  it  was  so  important  for  him  to  obtain.  There  was 
no  difficulty  in  getting  command  of  the  besieging  forces. 
That  post  was  gladly  yielded  by  its  leader  to  any  one 
willing  to  relieve  him  of  a  thankless  task.  Thus  it  came 
about  that  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  communicated  with  my 
Lord  Shrewsbury,  that  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  pledged  his 
knightly  word  to  King  James  that  he  would  take  Knock- 
more  for  him  on  a  certain  day,  and  that  Roger  Hendrigg 
travelled  to  Dublin  with  a  paper  of  importance. 


XIV 
"THE  ISLE  OF  CYPRUS" 

THE  Isle  of  Cyprus  inn  was,  by  a  curious  chance,  one 
of  the  handsomest  buildings  in  all  Dublin.  This  was 
because  in  the  beginning,  when  its  beams  were  set  and  its 
timbers  trimmed,  there  was  never  thought  that  the  great 
house  would  one  day  swing  a  tapster's  sign  from  its  walls 
and  make  boon  companions  welcome  within  its  wain- 
scoted apartments.  It  was  built  for  a  noble  that  was 
great  and  wealthy.  He  ceased  to  be  wealthy,  though  he 
remained  great,  thanks  to  the  troubles  and  tumults  of  the 
Civil  War.  Ireland  was  no  longer  a  place  for  his  safe 
abiding;  Dublin  knew  him  no  more,  and  the  great  house 
changed  owners  time  and  again.  It  was  a  costly  house  to 
keep  up;  times  were  bad;  money  scarce;  the  great  house 
was  less  and  less  cared  for  as  time  went  on.  When  it 
last  came  into  the  market  it  looked  as  if  no  one  cared  to 
buy.  But  Master  Bandy,  a  London  publican  on  a 
business  visit  to  Dublin,  saw  possibilities  in  the  great  house, 
bought  it  for  a  song,  as  the  saying  is,  put  it  reasonably  to 
rights,  named  it  "The  Isle  of  Cyprus"  inn,  and  soon  earned 
for  it  a  reputation  of  a  most  excellent  hostelry.  He  gave 
good  beds,  well  aired;  good  food,  well  cooked;  good  wine, 
well  kept.  He  soon  grew  popular  and  began  to  make  a 
fortune.  He  bought  and  stocked  so  much  wine — picking 
'38 


"THE    ISLE   OF   CYPRUS" 

up  many  a  cellarful  of  fine  vintages  by  private  treaty 
from  impoverished  gentry  folk — that  at  last  he  lost  count 
of  his  stock,  and  had  to  send  to  London  to  a  kinsman  of 
his  to  send  him  an  experienced  assistant.  The  assistant 
arrived  in  due  time  and  master  Bandy  found  him  invalu- 
able. 

The  glory  of  the  Isle  of  Cyprus  inn  was  its  spacious  hall 
which  the  visitor  entered  directly  from  the  street.  It  was 
all  panelled  in  oak;  it  had  a  gallery  that  gave  on  to  many 
rooms  which  the  quality  were  fond  of  hiring  for  private 
entertainments;  and  this  gallery  was  reached  by  a  mag- 
nificent staircase  that  curved  nobly  away  from  the  hall, 
that  had  beautifully  carved  pedestals  and  railings,  and 
was  probably  what  Master  Bandy  always  asserted  it  to  be, 
the  handsomest  stairway  in  all  Dublin.  Master  Bandy 
took  care  that  all  the  appurtenances  of  his  hall  should  be 
worthy  of  its  splendid  shell.  The  dressers  were  loaded 
with  shining  pewter;  the  cupboards  were  stocked  with 
costly  silver  and  scarcely  less  costly  glass;  the  chests  were 
crammed  with  the  finest,  whitest  linen  and  napery.  It 
was  small  wonder  that  so  many  noblemen  and  gentlemen 
came  to  make  merry  at  the  Isle  of  Cyprus,  when  they 
found  that  they  could  count  on  such  regal  entertainment. 
It  was  small  wonder  that  Master  Bandy  was  making  his 
fortune. 

Perhaps  the  most  conspicuous  object  in  the  great  hall 
of  the  Isle  of  Cyprus  inn  was  a  large  and  exceedingly 
well  executed  portrait  in  oils  of  His  sacred  Majesty  King 
James  II.,  which  occupied  a  commanding  position  above 
the  great  hearth.  The  king  was  represented  in  his  famil- 
iar habit  of  black  with  much  show  of  soft  white  linen, 
with  the  blue  ribbon  of  the  Garter  across  his  breast  and 
139 


THE   O'FLYNN 

the  Star  on  his  coat.  The  painter  had  caught  fairly  skil- 
fully the  air  of  dignified  melancholy  which  had  of  late  be- 
come characteristic  of  the  harassed  monarch. 

In  front  of  this  picture,  a  man  was  standing  on  a  certain 
evening  some  few  days  after  the  departure  of  the  players 
from  Castle  Famine  with  their  host  as  travelling  com- 
panion. The  man  was  habited  in  the  humble  costume 
of  an  inn  drawer  and  he  carried  a  basket  of  wine  in  his 
hand  which  he  had  just  brought  up  from  the  cellar  and 
was  about  to  range  upon  the  adjacent  sideboard  when 
his  attention  had  been  attracted,  not  indeed  for  the  first 
time,  by  the  picture,  and  he  stood  for  a  while  observing  it, 
a  singular  smile  upon  his  face.  Any  spectator  of  the  scene 
would  have  been  excused  for  believing  that  the  humble 
individual  who  stood  there  staring  up  at  the  picture  of 
the  man  who  had  been  a  great  king  and  might  be  a  great 
king  yet  again,  for  all  he  seemed  so  lowly  and  obscure, 
regarded  himself  as  the  peer  of  the  paint  monarch.  What- 
ever the  man's  thoughts  might  have  been  they  were  sud- 
denly diverted  by  the  appearance,  on  the  gallery  at  the 
back  of  the  hall,  of  a  little  fussy  smug-faced  man  that  was 
squat  and  stout  and  self-important  with  all  the  self-im- 
portance that  he  assumed  to  be  appropriate  to  the  de- 
meanor of  the  master  of  the  Isle  of  Cyprus  inn.  He  had 
come  out  of  one  of  the  rooms  giving  on  to  the  gallery  and 
he  stood  now,  holding  the  door  a  little  open,  apparently 
listening  to  orders  from  inside.  Through  the  partly  open 
door  came  a  pleasant  gush  of  talk  and  laughter  and  the 
clink  of  glasses. 

"Yes,  your  Grace,"  Master  Bandy  observed  respect- 
fully, and  then  drew  the  door  to  behind  him  and  the  talk 
and  the  laughter  and  the  clink  of  glasses  were  swallowed 
140 


"THE   ISLE   OF   CYPRUS" 

up  in  silence.  Master  Bandy  peered  over  the  balustrade 
at  his  dependent  who  was  now  ostentatiously  removing 
the  bottles  from  their  basket.  "His  Grace  of  Tyrconnel 
calls  for  more  wine,"  he  shouted  out,  and  then  he  waddled 
as  rapidly  as  he  could  down  the  great  staircase  to  where 
his  servant  awaited  him. 

The  servant  held  up  a  bottle  of  wine  with  an  approving 
look.  "There,"  he  said,  "here  is  what  should  tickle  his 
gills.  Master  Bandy,  'twas  your  wise  thought  to  send  for 
me  from  London  to  range  your  cellar.  It  can't  have  been 
overhauled  for  a  generation.  Here  is  some  fine  old  Bur- 
gundy that  is  worth  a  guinea  a  bottle." 

Master  Bandy  eyed  his  lieutenant  with  something  of 
suspicion  in  his  glance.  "How  do  you  know  it  is  fine  old 
Burgundy,  Peter  Morford  ?"  he  asked. 

The  man  whom  he  addressed  as  Peter  Morford  answered 
him  with  a  knowing  chuckle.  "By  my  sixth  sense,  sir, 
the  art  of  knowing  old  wine.  Why  else  did  you  send  for 
your  humble  servant  ?" 

Master  Bandy  nodded  agreement  with  the  words  of  his 
assistant.  "Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  "with  king  and  court  here, 
there  is  more  calling  for  wine,  and  a  man  had  better  know 
what  lies  in  his  cellars.  Why,  his  Grace  of  Tyrconnel 
likes  my  vintages  so  well  that  he  sups  here  with  his  friends 
whenever  he  has  a  night's  freedom  from  his  duties  to  King 
James,  God  save  him."  As  the  landlord  spoke  he  glanced 
with  an  expression  of  extravagant  loyalty  at  the  picture 
of  King  James  which  the  drawer  had  been  contemplating 
so  steadfastly  a  little  while  before. 

The  drawer  nodded  his  head  approvingly,  "You  are 
a  loyal  man."  His  glance  travelled  from  his  pompous 
little  master  to  the  melancholy  face  above  the  hearth. 
141 


THE    O'FLYNN 

"That's  a  fine  portrait  of  King  James  you  have  there,"  he 
said  appreciatively. 

Master  Bandy  beamed  enthusiasm.  "A  fine  portrait 
of  a  fine  king,  Heaven  bless  him,"  he  cried. 

"Heaven  bless  him  by  all  means,"  the  man  he  called 
Morford  echoed  with  a  certain  irony  in  his  voice,  "but  how 
if  Heaven  be  not  so  condescending  ?  How  if  Dutch 
William  win  the  trick  after  all  ?" 

Master  Bandy  started  as  sharply  as  if  his  quiet,  well- 
mannered,  deferential  servant  had  suddenly  struck  him 
a  blow,  and  he  glanced  anxiously  up  the  stairs  before 
he  found  breath  to  say  in  little  better  than  a  whisper, 
"Hush,  hush,  don't  talk  like  that,  with  his  Grace  of 
Tyrconnel  up-stairs  with  the  company."  He  paused  for  a 
moment  and  then  gave  a  little  cackling  laugh  as  he  grinned 
cunningly  at  his  companion:  "But  it  behooves  a  poor  inn- 
keeper to  weigh  the  future.  If  Dutch  William  wins  as  you 
say  he  may,  'tis  but  a  turn  of  the  wrist  and  God  save 
King  William." 

He  advanced  slowly  toward  the  fireplace  and  put  his 
hand  behind  the  lower  portion  of  the  mantelpiece,  and 
manipulated  a  concealed  handle.  Straightway,  to  the 
amusement  as  well  as  the  surprise  of  the  observing  drawer, 
the  picture  of  King  James  slowly  revolved  in  its  frame  till 
it  turned  its  back  upon  the  spectators  and  that  back 
represented  a  life  -  size  portrait  of  William  of  Orange 
habited  for  battle  with  a  steel  breast  -  plate  upon  his 
attenuated  person.  Master  Bandy  surveyed  his  drawer 
with  an  air  of  great  self-satisfaction. 

And  the  drawer  in  response  burst  into  hearty,  if  sup- 
pressed, laughter.     "I  see,"  he  said,  grimly,  "you  don't 
turn  your  coat,  you  turn  your  canvas." 
142 


"THE   ISLE   OF   CYPRUS" 

Master  Bandy  nodded,  then  rapidly  handling  the 
secret  machinery  again,  he  swung  William  of  Orange 
out  of  sight  and  his  Majesty  James  Stuart  once  more 
reigned  a  melancholy  master  of  the  scene. 

"Exactly,"  he  said,  going  away  from  the  fireplace  and 
rubbing  his  hands,  "now  give  me  the  wine.  I'm  glad 
this  is  good  stuff,  for  there's  a  better  judge  of  wine  up 
there  than  the  viceroy,  Lord  Sedgemouth,  no  less." 

The  man  that  Master  Bandy  called  Peter  Morford 
turned  toward  the  landlord  with  no  great  show  of  curiosity 
on  his  expressionless  face  as  he  questioned,  "And  who  is 
Lord  Sedgemouth  ?"  he  asked  indifferently. 

Master  Bandy  stared  at  him  in  astonishment.  "Man," 
he  said,  "'tis  plain  that  you're  very  new  to  the  Isle  of 
Cyprus  to  ask  such  a  question.  Why,  Lord  Sedgemouth 
has  been  here  every  evening  for  the  last  week  and  always 
about  this  time.  Here  he  will  sit  and  drink  with  his  friends 
till  the  world  goes  round." 

Master  Morford  nodded  a  certain  approval  of  a  gentle- 
man that  promised  to  make  so  good  a  patron  by  his 
master's  tavern.  "Then,  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  is  a  pretty 
drinker,"  he  observed. 

"Pretty  and  neat,"  Master  Bandy  cried.  "He  can 
carry  more  wine  without  taking  color  than  any  nobleman 
of  my  acquaintance.  He  will  drink  and  drink  and  keep 
pale,  and  wear  a  grave  bearing,  while  he  is  crazy  drunk 
behind  his  white  face.  Hush!  Talk  of  the  devil,  here 
comes  the  pleasant  gentleman." 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  door  on  the  gallery  out  of  which 

Master   Bandy   had   issued   a   few   minutes   earlier   now 

opened   again   letting  through   the    same    little    gush   of 

pleasant  sounds,  and  letting  through  also  a  very  tall  and 

143 


THE   O'FLYNN 

distinguished-looking  gentleman,  who  closed  the  door  be- 
hind him  and,  walking  with  a  certain  unsteadiness  along 
the  gallery,  began  to  descend  the  steps.  The  new-comer 
was  dressed  in  a  rich  wine-colored  coat — and  his  flowered 
waistcoat,  his  silk  breeches  and  stockings,  his  red-heeled 
shoes,  his  rich  laces  and  jewels  asserted  his  right  to  be 
regarded  as  a  master  of  the  mode.  Indeed  there  was 
no  one  in  Dublin,  in  London,  or  in  Paris  likely  to  question 
the  right  of  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  so  to  be  regarded. 

All  those  writers  of  memoirs  in  the  seventeenth  century, 
who  treat  at  all  of  Philip  Defford,  Earl  of  Sedgemouth — 
and  it  would  have  been  hard  for  any  contemporary 
chronicler  wholly  to  overlook  him — are  agreed  in  one 
thing,  the  praise  of  his  person.  It  seems  clear  that  to 
him,  as  to  few  men  in  any  given  generation,  the  epithet 
beautiful  might  pertinently  be  applied.  He  resembled, 
he  recalled,  as  he  had  rivalled,  my  lord  of  Monmouth  in  a 
comeliness  of  carriage  and  countenance  that  most  men 
found  excessive,  and  that  few  women  refrained  from 
adoring.  For  all  his  comeliness  and  pride  of  port  my 
lord  had,  or  considered  himself  and  was  so  considered  by 
many,  to  have  a  deplorable  ancestry.  The  first  Earl  of 
Sedgemouth,  crested  by  James  I.  for  services  rendered, 
married  toward  the  close  of  his  clouded  life  a  market- 
wench  whose  beauty,  which  was  great,  happened  to  be  no 
greater  than  her  virtue,  her  chastity,  or  her  prudence. 
The  old  earl  saw  her,  took  fire  like  dry  heather  and  was 
prepared  to  go  to  any  lengths  in  guineas.  The  market- 
maid  was  politic,  intractable;  all  the  gold  she  wanted  was 
a  hoop  of  the  fine  metal  upon  the  fitting  finger.  This  she 
asked  and  was  laughed  at  for  asking;  this  she  stood  out 
for  stoutly;  this  she  obtained  at  last  because  the  old 
144 


"THE   ISLE   OF   CYPRUS" 

lord's  desires  were  hotter  than  his  prejudices,  because  also, 
it  may  be,  he  realized  that  the  gulf  between  an  Inns  of 
Court  rogue  and  a  Covent  Garden  apple-woman  was  none 
so  unbridgeable.  The  certain  result  is  that  the  third 
Earl  of  Sedgemouth  had  a  marked  dislike  for  apples  and 
never  permitted  them  to  grace  his  table. 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  descended  the  stairs  leisurely, 
and  even  gracefully  for  a  man  that  carried  so  much  wine. 
He  paused  for  a  moment  to  glance  at  his  pale  comely 
face  in  a  mirror  that  hung  against  the  wall,  tapped  his 
forehead  with  the  kerchief  he  carried  in  his  hand  and 
called  to  the  obsequious  landlord,  "Now,  Bandy,  the  wine, 
man — the  wine.  Tyrconnel  is  swearing  like  the  fiend!" 

"Coming,  my  lord,  coming,"  Bandy  answered,  respect- 
fully. As  he  took  up  a  couple  of  bottles  from  the  side- 
board he  whispered  to  his  drawer,  "You  would  not  think 
it  to  look  at  him,  but  he  is  half  drunk  already." 

Master  Morford  said  nothing.  His  expressionless  face 
revealed  no  hint  of  interest  in  the  splendid  gentleman  who 
had  now  descended  the  stairs  and  advancing  toward  the 
fireplace  stood  there  warming  his  slim  fingers  daintily. 

"  I'll  bide  here  awhile,"  my  lord  said  with  a  yawn.  "  It's 
hot  in  the  room  there,  and  the  ladies  are  a  check  on  drink- 
ing. Leave  me  a  bottle  to  keep  me  company." 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  Bandy  answered.  He  handed  a 
bottle  to  the  man  he  called  Morford,  filled  the  drawer's 
basket  with  wine  and  hooking  it  on  his  arm  ascended  the 
stairs,  opened  the  door  of  the  room  where  the  viceroy's 
party  were  amusing  themselves,  and  let  out  again  a  little 
ripple  of  mirth  which  was  silenced  as  he  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

Master  Morford  meanwhile  was  busying  himself  with  the 
'45 


THE   O'FLYNN 

drawing  of  the  bottle,  which  Master  Bandy  had  intrusted 
to  him  for  the  delectation  of  my  Lord  Sedgemouth.  It 
proved  to  be  an  elaborate  process  needing  much  examina- 
tion, first  of  the  corkscrew,  then  of  the  bottle,  then  of  the 
cork  before  inserting  the  twisted  steel  into  its  substance. 
Very  slowly  Master  Morford  drove  the  instrument  home, 
standing  the  while  with  his  back  to  my  lord  there  at  the 
fireplace. 

My  lord  seemed  to  watch  his  proceedings  at  first  with 
some  amusement,  then  with  impatience.  He  glanced  at 
the  clock  and  noted  the  time  it  told  with  a  frown;  he  drew 
out  his  watch  and  compared  its  statement,  apparently 
to  his  dissatisfaction,  with  that  of  the  clock,  then  he  ad- 
vanced to  the  table  and  drummed  on  it  sharply  with  the 
tips  of  his  fine,  delicate  fingers.  "Brisk,  man,  brisk," 
he  cried,  "am  I  to  die  of  thirst  ?" 

The  drawer  still  kept  his  back  turned  to  his  magnificent 
client,  but  he  answered  with  a  voice  that  was  more  mocking 
than  deferential,  "I  thought  your  lordship  was  growing 
impatient." 

Sedgemouth  stared  at  the  fellow.  He  had  thought  his 
form  strange  to  the  inn  and  now  the  voice  sounded  strange, 
too.  "You  have  an  unfamiliar  back,"  he  said,  "who  are 
you  ?" 

Master  Morford  drew  the  cork  and  turned  on  his  heel 
in  one  and  the  same  instant,  facing  my  Lord  Sedgemouth 
and  holding  the  bottle  in  his  extended  left  hand.  He 
tapped  himself  on  the  breast  with  the  cork  on  the  end  of 
the  corkscrew  as  he  introduced  himself,  "Mat  Bandy's 
new  drawer  from  London,  Peter  Morford,  at  your  ser- 
vice." He  came  close  to  the  table  where  my  lord  had  now 
seated  himself  and  poured  out  a  glass  of  the  precious 
146 


"THE   ISLE   OF   CYPRUS" 

liquor.  "This  is  a  rare  wine.  Will  your  lordship  drink 
the  first  glass  to  the  king  ?" 

My  lord  looked  at  him  with  a  smile.  "You  are  an 
original,"  he  protested.  "By  all  means! — the  king!" 

As  he  spoke  he  was  for  lifting  the  filled  goblet  to  his 
lips,  but  the  drawer  laid  a  finger  on  his  sleeve  and  stayed 
him.  "But  which  king?"  he  asked,  ironically.  "King 
Lemon  here  in  Dublin,  or  King  Orange  yonder  in 
London  ?" 

My  lord  let  the  goblet  descend  to  the  level  of  the  table 
again  and  he  frowned  a  little  at  what  he  conceived  to  be 
the  impertinent  presumption  of  the  man.  "Fellow — " 
he  began. 

But  the  drawer  with  perfect  composure  interrupted  his 
lordship's  show  of  anger:  "Your  lordship,"  he  said  calm- 
ly, "is  impatient  because  you  haunt  this  tavern  nightly 
for  a  message  and  the  message  does  not  come.  I  do  not 
marvel  that  your  lordship  is  fretful." 

There  followed  a  pause  of  several  seconds  during  which 
the  man  that  was  called  Morford  stared  steadfastly  at 
my  Lord  Sedgemouth,  and  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  stared 
no  less  steadfastly  at  the  man  that  was  called  Morford. 

Then  my  lord  said  with  something  of  anxiety  in  his 
voice,  "Have  you  something  to  say  to  me  ?" 

The  man  that  was  a  servant  came  close  to  the  man  that 
was  a  great  nobleman  and  addressed  him  emphatically, 
"I  have  but  one  word  for  you,"  he  said,  "and  that  word 
is  'Whitehall.'  " 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth's  anxiety  now  grew  keener  and 
he  questioned  his  companion  eagerly,  "Are  you  the  man  ?" 

The  man  that  was  called  Morford  suddenly  and  easily 
abandoned  his  humble  manner  and  ,spoke  to  Lord  Sedge- 
«47 


THE   O'FLYNN 

mouth  with  ease  and  authority:  "I  am  the  man,"  he 
said.  "I  am  Roger  Hendrigg,  one  of  King  William's 
humblest,  but  also  one  of  his  most  useful  servants." 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth's  habitually  pale  face  seemed  to 
grow  paler  as  Hendrigg  spoke  to  him.  "You  must  make 
me  sure,"  he  said,  and  there  was  fear  and  suspicion  in 
his  voice  as  he  spoke. 

Hendrigg  nodded  his  head  coolly:  "Of  course,"  he 
said.  "You  were  to  have  three  tokens.  One  was  my 
Lord  Shrewsbury's  signet -ring;  one  was  a  guinea  of 
James  Stuart  with  a  hole  in  the  middle  of  it;  one  was  a 
piece  of  paper  with  some  words  and  a  signature." 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  tried  to  preserve  his  familiar 
carriage  of  nonchalance  in  the  presence  of  this  strange 
messenger  of  Fate.  He  took  out  his  snuff-box  and  helped 
himself  to  a  pinch  with  fingers  that  he  tried  to  keep  steady 
but  which  betrayed,  in  spite  of  his  effort  at  mastery,  the 
agitation  of  the  man.  "Where  are  these  tokens?"  he 
asked,  and  his  voice  shook  a  little  as  he  questioned. 

Hendrigg  slipped  his  hand  into  a  side  pocket  and  pro- 
duced a  gold  ring.  "Here,"  he  said,  "is  my  Lord  of 
Shrewsbury's  signet-ring.  A  pretty  motto  'Prest  d'ac- 
complir.'  His  lordship  is  always  ready  to  accomplish  his 
own  advancement."  He  laid  down  the  ring  as  he  spoke. 

And  Lord  Sedgemouth  took  it  up  and  examined  it  and 
knew  it  to  be  the  expected  signet.  "Lord  Shrewsbury  is 
my  friend,"  he  said  with  a  show  of  anger  which  Hendrigg 
wholly  disregarded. 

From  another  pocket  he  drew  a  gold  coin  which  he 
laid  upon  the  table  before  Lord  Sedgemouth.     "Here  is 
the  guinea  of  James  with  the  hole  through  it,  which  shows 
that  we  have  nailed  that  false  coin  to  the  counter." 
148 


"THE   ISLE   OF   CYPRUS" 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  took  up  the  coin  and  scrutinized 
it.  It  was,  as  Hendrigg  said,  a  James  guinea  and  it  had 
a  hole  in  it,  punched  right  through  the  effigy  of  the  king. 
He  looked  up  at  Hendrigg  thoughtfully,  "And  the  third 
token  ?"  he  asked. 

From  an  inner  pocket  Hendrigg  instantly  produced  a 
paper.  "Here  it  is,"  he  said.  "It  is  an  order  to  the 
Dutch  Governor  of  Knockmore,  commanding  him  to 
surrender  the  castle  to  the  bearer  if  allowed  to  march 
out  with  the  honors  of  war.  It  is  dated  from  Whitehall, 
and  it  is  signed,  William.  Is  not  that  the  paper  you 
expected  ?" 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  brought  his  finger-tips  together 
and  spoke  through  compressed  lips,  "Perhaps,"  he  said, 
softly. 

Hendrigg  looked  approval  of  his  caution.  "You  are 
politic,"  he  commented.  "You  are  thinking  that  I  might 
have  killed  the  true  carrier,  and  stolen  his  tokens — for  all 
you  know  to  the  contrary,  as  I  killed  the  fellow  that  was 
coming  here  to  be  drawer  to  the  landlord  yonder." 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  lifted  his  fine  eyebrows  a  little. 
"Why?"  he  questioned. 

Hendrigg  replied:  "To  take  his  place.  What  better 
office  for  a  William  spy  with  a  message  to  deliver  than 
drawer  in  a  tavern  hard  by  Dublin  Castle  ?" 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  smiled  faintly.  "You  stick  at 
little,"  he  said. 

"I  stick  at  nothing,"  Hendrigg  asserted,  emphatically. 
"He  that  plays  at  politics  with  a  half  heart  had  better 
keep  out  of  the  game.  Chew  that  wisdom,  my  dear 
lord." 

Sedgemouth  looked  at  the  quiet  man,  at  the  quiet  figure, 
149 


THE   O'FLYNN 

at  the  quiet,  expressionless  face  and  felt  assured.  "I 
think  you  are  the  man,"  he  said. 

Hendrigg  came  closer  to  him,  resolved  to  silence  all 
doubts.  "Let  me  convince  you,"  he  said,  slowly.  "Let 
me  whisper  in  your  ear  a  piece  of  secret  history.  Though 
you,  my  lord,  profess  allegiance  to  King  James  in  Dublin, 
you  are  really  a  secret  agent  of  King  William,  and  here  on 
a  special  mission." 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  gave  a  little  laugh.  "Am  I  so  ?" 
he  said. 

Hendrigg  went  on  without  heeding.  "That  mission  is 
in  the  first  place  to  obtain  the  post  of  First  Lord  of  the 
Bedchamber  to  James  Stuart." 

By  this  time  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  had  regained  full 
control  over  himself.  His  airy  manner  had  returned, 
and  he  played  with  his  snuff-box  in  security,  letting  no 
grain  of  the  precious  powder  fall  upon  the  splendor  of 
his  brocaded  waistcoat.  "I  have," he  drawled  deliberately, 
"asked  King  James  to  give  me  that  place  of  honor." 

Hendrigg  grinned.  "But  James  Stuart  has  not  made 
you  his  First  Lord  of  the  Bedchamber." 

Lord  Sedgemouth  shrugged  his  shoulders:  "I  have 
rivals,"  he  said.  "The  king  has  whims.  There  are 
times  when  he  is  as  hard  to  manage — I  was  going  to  say 
as  a  woman,  but  I  have  never  found  women  hard  to 
manage — "  Here  he  paused  and  laughed  again,  a  laugh 
of  infinite  self-satisfaction,  for  my  lord  was  very  famous 
for  his  successes  in  love. 

"Let  us  say  as  a  mule,"  Hendrigg  commented,  grufHy. 
He  cared  nothing  for  my  lord's  love-affairs. 

My  lord  went  on  with  his  story.  "Service  for  service, 
says  his  Majesty  to  me,  tells  me  I  have  done  nothing  for 
150 


"THE   ISLE   OF   CYPRUS" 

him  yet,  that  I  shall  be  rewarded  when  I  deserve  it.  Well, 
one  of  King  James's  armies  has  been  besieging  Knock- 
more  for  the  last  month  without  success.  The  place 
seems  impregnable,  but  James  has  set  his  heart  on  taking 
it.  I  see  my  chance,  I  promise  to  take  Knockmore  as  a 
present  for  his  Majesty,  and  if  I  do  the  king  promises  me 
the  post  I  covet.  I  let  my  Lord  Shrewsbury  know  of 
this,  and  he,  as  you  see,  sends  me  the  paper  which  is  to 
insure  the  surrender  of  the  town." 

"Yes,"  said  Hendrigg,  "and  when  the  town  is  taken 
you  know  what  you  have  to  do  ?" 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  answered  him  in  a  low  voice. 
"I  am  to  bring  about  the  abdication  of  James  Stuart. 
Holding  the  post  of  First  Lord  of  the  Bedchamber,  I 
should  have  daily,  nightly,  hourly  access  to  the  royal 
apartments." 

Hendrigg  spoke  in  the  same  low  tone  as  my  lord  had 
used.  "As  such  you  could  be  the  means  of  introducing 
at  the  right  time  a  certain  number  of  persons  to  the  pres- 
ence of  James  Stuart,  men  of  strong  will,  men  of  strong 
hands,  men  of  stern  purpose." 

My  lord  took  another  pinch  of  snuff.  "And  that  pur- 
pose ?"  he  asked,  with  a  faint  air  of  gay  indifference. 

Hendrigg  spoke  gravely,  spoke  sternly.  "To  get  rid  of 
James  Stuart — to  force  him  to  sign  an  Act  of  Abdication 
— to  kidnap  him  back  to  France — to  kill  him  if  neces- 
sary." 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  yawned  a  little,  checked  the  yawn 
with  a  gracefully  lifted  hand  and  then  said,  languidly, 
"That  need  not  be  necessary." 

Hendrigg  grunted  again:  "Maybe  not.  All  we  want  is 
that  on  a  certain  morning  Dublin  shall  wake  up  to  find 

11  151 


THE   O'FLYNN 

that  there  is  no  Stuart  king  in  Dublin  Castle,  and  that 
every  wall  in  the  city  is  labelled  with  a  copy  of  his  Act  of 
Abdication,  the  original  of  which  myself  will  carry  to 
Whitehall.  You  understand  ?" 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  nodded,  "I  understand." 

"When  you  are  master  of  Knockmore,"  Hendrigg  went 
on,  "when  you  have  your  post  of  attendance  of  James 
Stuart's  person,  look  to  see  me  again.  I  shall  find  the 
man  we  shall  need  to  lay  our  little  game  of  abdication." 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  stretched  himself  and  spoke  a 
little  fretfully,  "I  wish  it  were  done,"  he  said. 

Hendrigg  looked  at  him  reprovingly:  "I  am  never  im- 
patient. If  a  thing  cannot  be  done  quickly,  then  it  must 
be  done  slowly,  that  is  all.  The  great  thing  is  that  it  be 
done." 

"Philosopher,"  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  commented,  and 
laughed. 

Hendrigg  leaned  forward  toward  the  objects  he  had  laid 
upon  the  table.  "As  for  these  tokens,"  he  said,  "the  ring 
goes  back  to  my  Lord  Shrewsbury  as  soon  as  may  be.  The 
James  guinea  I  shall  hold  for  myself  as  a  pocketpiece. 
This  paper  is  your  part  of  the  plunder.  Keep  it  care- 
fully. If  it  were  found  with  you  I  think  you  would 
hang." 

My  lord  smiled  a  little  sourly  at  Hendrigg's  humor.  "  It 
shall  not  be  found,"  he  promised. 

Hendrigg  had  moved  a  little  apart  from  my  lord  as  he 
pocketed  the  ring  and  the  coin,  but  now  he  drew  near  to 
him  again.  "And  now,  my  lord,"  he  said,  "before  we 
part,  tell  me,  for  my  private  satisfaction,  why  you  follow 
James  Stuart?" 

My  lord  looked  at  him  with  something  of  amusement 


"THE   ISLE   OF   CYPRUS" 

on  his  fine  face.  "Whatever  happens  to  James,  I  want 
to  marry  Lord  Mountmichael's  daughter." 

Hendrigg  seemed  to  approve.  "Lord  Mountmichael  is 
very  rich,"  he  said,  "and  Lady  Benedetta  is  his  only 
child." 

My  lord  went  on  merrily:  "And  Lady  Benedetta  loves 
me  with  all  her  silly  heart  and  soul.  But  Lord  Mount- 
michael is  hot  for  King  James,  and  will  have  none  but  a 
James  man  for  his  daughter's  suitor.  Happily,  Lord 
Mountmichael's  estates  and  fortunes  are,  for  the  most  part, 
in  France.  My  Lord  Shrewsbury  knows  that  I  must  be 
outwardly  a  James  man  till  I  marry  the  pretty  ninny." 

Even  as  my  lord  finished  speaking,  Hendrigg's  demeanor 
changed  in  a  flash.  He  was  no  longer  Roger  Hendrigg 
conveying  orders  from  Whitehall  to  my  Lord  Sedgemouth, 
treating  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  with  equality.  He  assumed 
in  an  instant  the  humble  and  deferential  bearing  of  a 
tavern  drawer  and  it  was  with  a  humble  and  deferential 
voice  that  he  said,  aloud,  "I  am  proud  to  learn  that  your 
lordship  esteems  our  Burgundy." 

My  lord  was  taken  by  surprise  by  this  shift  of  demeanor. 
"What  the  devil" —  he  began,  and  then  lifted  his  eyes  to 
the  gallery  and  understood. 


XV 

MY  LORD  SEES  FANCY  FREE 

r  I  "'HE  Lady  Benedetta  had  come  out  of  the  room  where 
1  the  viceroy  and  his  friends  were  revelling,  and  stood 
for  a  moment  in  the  gallery,  her  hands  resting  lightly  on 
the  balustrade,  as  she  looked  down  into  the  room  below. 
My  Lord  Sedgemouth  looked  up  at  her  and  found  her  very 
fair  to  behold.  He  could  never  remember  the  time  when 
he  had  not  been  in  love  with  some  woman  or  with  several 
women,  and  he  was  not  very  deeply  in  love  with  Lady 
Benedetta.  But  he  found  her  eminently  desirable  now 
as  he  saw  her  with  his  wine-stained  eyes,  standing  there  in 
her  youth  and  her  beauty,  and  knew  that  she  loved  him 
and  knew  that  she  was  rich.  My  Lord  Sedgemouth  had 
no  passionate  wish  to  marry;  his  knowledge  of  other  men's 
wives  inspired  him  with  no  great  enthusiasm  for  the  posses- 
sion of  a  wife  of  his  own,  but  my  Lord  Sedgemouth's  coffers 
were  empty;  my  Lord  Sedgemouth's  lands  were  mortgaged; 
my  Lord  Sedgemouth's  luck  at  cards  had  been,  of  late,  un- 
fortunate. Scandal  had  always  represented  my  lord  as  a 
gentleman  that  was  willing  to  be  kind  to  ladies  that  sought 
his  kindness  for  a  substantial  monetary  consideration,  but 
even  this  means  of  filling  his  pocket  had  not,  of  late,  pre- 
sented itself  with  sufficient  frequency  to  be  regarded  as  a 
substantial  item  in  my  lord's  uncomfortable  budget. 
J54 


MY  LORD  SEES  FANCY  FREE 

Therefore,  my  lord  was  willing  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad 
business  and  to  marry  a  fortune;  and  under  these  cir- 
cumstances, had  gratitude  been  part  of  his  composition, 
he  should  have  been  grateful  to  the  chance  that  flung 
fortune  in  his  way  with  so  lovely  a  lady  seated  on  the 
top  of  it.  As  it  was,  he  professed  to  be  content  with  his 
condition  and  he  accepted  Lady  Benedetta 's  very  simple, 
childish,  and  open  admiration  with  a  condescending  toler- 
ance which  he  regarded  as  a  conclusive  proof  of  his  own 
extreme  good-nature.  He  pushed  the  drawer  aside  with 
a  careless  left  hand. 

"Yes,  yes,  my  good  fellow — I  never  tasted  better — " 
he  said,  and  made  the  Lady  Benedetta  a  stately  bow. 

Benedetta  leaned  a  little  farther  over  the  gallery  and 
called  down  to  her  lover,  "My  dear  lord,  why  do  you 
abandon  us  ?" 

Hendrigg,  with  no  sign  of  intelligence  on  his  expression- 
less countenance,  made  a  profound  salutation  to  Benedetta 
and  another  to  Lord  Sedgemouth  and  quitted  the  room. 

Lady  Benedetta  came  running  down  the  steps  toward 
my  lord,  who  moved  with  leisurely  grace  to  greet  her. 

He  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips  very  courtierly  and  kissed 
it.  "Most  dear  lady,"  he  said,  tenderly,  "dare  I  believe 
that  you  noted  my  absence  ?" 

Benedetta  gave  a  little  sigh  and  smiled  faintly  into  the 
handsome  face  before  her.  "Indeed,"  she  protested,  "it 
has  all  grown  dull  for  me  without  you." 

My  lord  made  an  apologetic  gesture  toward  the  table 
with  its  freight  of  wine  and  glasses.  "I  did  but  taste  a 
vintage  on  which  our  landlord  asked  my  judgment,"  he 
explained.  "Forgive  me,  sweet  lady."  He  held  both 
her  hands  in  his  as  he  spoke  and  looked  into  her  eyes  with 
'55 


THE   O'FLYNN 

that  keen  regard  wherein  fierceness  and  homage  were 
ingeniously  blended — a  regard  that  had  made  many  a 
woman,  before  Benedetta's  day,  believe  that  Lord  Sedge- 
mouth  loved  her. 

Benedetta  gave  a  little  cry  of  pleasure.  "I  think  I 
could  forgive  you  anything  when  you  plead  so  prettily." 
She  looked  joyously  into  her  lover's  face  as  if  to  challenge 
him  to  the  utterance  of  further  pretty  speeches. 

But  my  lord  was  in  no  humor  for  such  romantic  traffic. 
Although  he  carried  himself  so  airily,  he  had  been  drinking 
deep  for  some  hours  and  his  interview  with  Hendrigg  had 
stirred  him  beyond  his  wont,  and  he  needed  more  wine 
and  more  excitement,  and  not  aimless  dallyings  with  a  fool- 
ish girl.  It  was,  therefore,  with  a  scarcely  veiled  weari- 
ness that  he  answered  Benedetta's  pleading  glances  with 
a  question.  "Shall  we  return?"  he  asked,  and  glanced 
up  toward  the  gallery  and  the  room  which  Benedetta  had 
left  so  lately. 

But  Benedetta  was  not  to  be  denied.  She  had  stolen 
away  from  her  company  in  the  hope  of  finding  her  lover, 
and  she  had  found  him  and  did  not  want  to  lose  him 
immediately.  "Nay,"  she  protested,  "let  us  linger  here 
a  little.  Why,  I  have  not  seen  you — to  have  any  speech 
alone  with  you — for  a  day!  Do  you  not  find  it  a  long 
time  ?" 

My  lord  swallowed  a  yawn.  "  It  is  a  very  desert  of  time, 
an  age  of  ages,"  he  declared,  as  fervently  as  he  could.  His 
glance  still  travelled  in  the  direction  of  the  gallery.  "What 
are  they  doing  within  ?"  he  asked. 

Lady  Benedetta  began  to  explain.  "Why,  Her  Grace 
of  Tyrconnel  is  all  of  a  sudden  for  playing  games,  and  'tis 
'Hunt  the  slipper'  and  'Forfeits'  and  'Puss  in  the  Corner/ 
156 


MY   LORD   SEES   FANCY   FREE 

and  such  romps,  till  I  wearied  and  slipped  away  to  seek 
you,  my  truant  knight." 

My  lord  clearly  perceived  that  it  was  expected  of  him  to 
play  the  gallant  and  he  forced  himself  to  the  task  with  a 
fair  show  of  enthusiasm.  "I  have  no  other  picture  of 
happiness  than  to  be  ever  by  your  side,"  he  said,  passion- 
ately. "When  will  that  picture  prove  a  living  fact  with 
my  sweet  love  for  my  sweet  wife  ?" 

Benedetta  sighed  again.  "You  know  my  father  will 
not  have  me  wed  any  man  that  has  not  done  some  great 
service  for  the  king." 

My  lord  flourished  his  kerchief  with  a  great  air  of 
heroism.  "I  shall  be  that  man,"  he  asserted.  "I  shall 
do  that  great  service.  I  have  promised  the  king  to  give 
him  Knockmore  Castle  as  a  midsummer  present.  To- 
morrow I  set  off  to  take  command  of  the  besieging 
force." 

Benedetta  looked  at  him  in  admiration;  fond  confidence 
in  all  his  heroic  qualities  shining  in  her  eyes.  "I  think 
you  are  sure  to  succeed,"  she  said,  and  pressed  the  hand 
that  still  held  one  of  hers. 

Lord  Sedgemouth  returned  the  pressure  and  answered 
with  a  significance  that  was  greater  than  Benedetta  knew, 
"I  know  I  shall  succeed."  He  thought  of  Hendrigg  as  he 
spoke  and  of  the  paper  Hendrigg  had  given  him  which 
now  lay  comfortably  bestowed  in  an  inner  pocket  close 
against  the  organ  which  he  was  pleased  to  call  his  heart. 
Cheered  by  his  sense  of  security  he  continued,  caressing 
the  girl  with  his  glances.  "Fired  by  the  hope  of  winning 
you,  I  feel  that  nothing  can  stand  in  the  way  of  my 
purpose." 

Benedetta  looked  up  at  him  as  some  devout  votary 
'57 


THE   O'FLYNN 

might  regard  a  sacred  image.     "My  hero!"  she  cried, 
"My  St.  George,  my  Paladin!" 

She  looked  so  pleasing  in  her  pretty  vehemence  that  my 
lord  felt  some  stirring  of  the  spirit  and  clasped  the  child 
in  his  arms.  "Beloved,"  he  said,  and  kissed  her  passion- 
ately and  felt  for  the  moment  quite  a  thrill  of  pleasure  in 
the  embrace.  A  thrill  of  pleasure  that  allowed  him  to  feel 
a  thrill  of  annoyance  when  there  came  a  great  noise  and 
clatter  outside  the  inn  door  and  the  ringing  of  the  inn  bell. 

Benedetta,  startled  by  the  interruption,  broke  away 
from  his  encircling  arms.  "What  is  that?"  she  cried. 

Sedgemouth  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Some  late  ar- 
rivals, probably,"  he  said. 

Then,  as  the  inn  door  opened,  my  lord  gave  Lady  Bene- 
detta his  hand,  and  the  pair  moved  slowly  up  the  staircase 
to  the  gallery  as  the  new-comers  entered  the  hall.  The 
new-comers  were  the  members  of  the  late  Riverside  Fellow- 
ship of  Stage  Players — Master  Winshaw,  Master  Tulpin, 
Master  Conamur,  Mistress  Oldmixon,  and  Mistress  Free 
with  Master  Burden  at  their  head.  They  swarmed  into 
the  hall  making  a  great  noise.  They  all  looked  travel- 
stained;  they  all  looked  tired;  they  all  looked  hungry. 
Over  the  din  the  voice  of  Master  Burden  volleyed  like 
muffled  thunder:  "Holloa,  landlord!  Come  forth,  thou 
fearful  man!" 

My  lord  and  Benedetta  had  paused  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs  to  observe  the  intruders.  My  lord's  appreciative  eye 
discerned  the  attractiveness  of  Fancy  Free  standing  out 
from  her  associates  and,  with  his  characteristic  carelessness 
of  the  feelings  of  women,  he  pointed  her  out  to  Lady 
Benedetta.  "Is  not  she  a  pretty  piece  in  the  flowered 
silk  ?"  he  asked. 

158 


MY  LORD  SEES  FANCY  FREE 

Lady  Benedetta  was  frankly  vexed  and  did  not  try  to 
dissemble  her  vexation.  She  found  it  aggravating  to  have 
the  comeliness  of  other  women  pointed  out  to  her  by  her 
own  lover,  and  being  a  very  jealous  maid  betrayed  her 
jealousy  in  her  speech.  "My  dear  lord,  I  protest,  there 
is  nothing  in  the  wench." 

My  lord  saw  his  mistake  instantly  and,  because  he  did 
not  wish  to  vex  Benedetta  unreasonably  before  she  was 
married  to  him,  he  strove  hastily  to  make  amends.  "You 
are  right,"  he  declared,  in  a  loud  voice  that  carried  farther 
than  he  knew  or  heeded,  "now  I  see  clearer,  she  is  very 
ill-favored." 

He  was  so  occupied  with  the  endeavor  to  placate  Bene- 
detta, who,  indeed,  was  easily  placated  by  her  lover,  that 
he  did  not  note  a  mocking  smile  on  Fancy  Free's  face,  or 
the  disdainful  toss  of  Fancy  Free's  head.  In  the  mean- 
time the  players  were  bustling  about  below  relieving  them- 
selves of  their  baggage  and  explaining  to  each  other  their 
immediate  needs  of  refreshment.  Mistress  Oldmixon  con- 
fided to  Fancy  in  a  stage  whisper,  "I  could  fancy  pig's 
feet  for  my  supper,  couldn't  you,  dear  ?" 

Burden,  beating  the  table  with  his  fist,  thundered  vo- 
ciferously, "What  ho!  Within  there." 

Summoned  by  the  unexpected  clamor  Master  Bandy 
made  his  appearance  from  the  recesses  of  his  hostelry. 
"Coming,  coming,"  he  shouted,  as  he  made  his  way  into 
the  hall,  and  then  gazing  at  the  newly  assembled  throng 
he  questioned,  "What  can  I  do  for  your  honors  ?" 

Master  Burden  advanced  upon  him  majestically  por- 
tentous and  addressed  him  in  his  richest  voice.  "You 
can  do  much,  master  landlord.  Here  are  we,  the  River- 
side Fellowship  of  Stage  Players,  come  to  Dublin  to  en- 
159 


THE   O'FLYNN 

tertain  his  Majesty."  As  he  spoke  he  paid  a  florid  saluta- 
tion to  the  picture  of  King  James  above  the  fireplace. 
"Here  we  will  feast,  here  we  will  sleep,  here  will  we  warm 
our  bloods  that  are  chilled  to  jelly  with  our  travels  in  this 
savage  island." 

Master  Bandy  might  not,  under  ordinary  conditions, 
have  been  overpleased  to  welcome  the  coming  of  a  cry  of 
players  to  the  Isle  of  Cyprus  inn,  but  he  was  shrewd 
enough  to  perceive  at  a  glance  that  Master  Burden  and 
his  comrades  were  far  from  common  strolling  players,  and 
to  infer  from  their  seeming  and  carriage  that  they  would 
be  able  to  pay  for  what  they  desired.  So  he  rubbed  his 
hands  and  nodded  his  head  friendly  enough  and  grinned 
approvingly  at  Master  Burden's  comment  upon  the  coun- 
try. "Well  may  you  so  name  it!"  he  declared. 

Master  Burden  beamed  upon  him.  "Are  you  an  Eng- 
lishman ?"  he  asked,  and  when  Bandy  nodded  agreement 
the  master  player  thrust  out  his  hand.  "Give  me  your 
hand,"  he  cried.  "My  name  is  Matthew  Burden,  and 
this  is  my  company."  With  a  spacious  sweep  of  his  arm 
he  indicated  his  companions  and  those  same  companions 
instantly  closed  around  the  landlord,  each  voicing  his  im- 
mediate wants,  noisily. 

Conamur  cried,  "Landlord,  have  you  got  any  orange- 
flower  water  ?" 

As  he  spoke  he  plucked  at  Bandy's  right  arm  and  Mis- 
tress Oldmixon  seized  Bandy's  left  arm  and  questioned, 
"Landlord,  are  you  sure  the  linen  is  well  aired  ?" 

Winshaw  shrieked  into  one  ear,  "Landlord,  do  you 
know  how  to  mull  ale  ?"  And  Tulpin  groaned  into  the 
other,  "Landlord,  I  need  a  pipe  and  tobacco." 

Master  Bandy  extricated  himself  with  some  difficulty 
1 60 


MY  LORD  SEES  FANCY  FREE 

from  the  attentions  of  the  players  and  strove  to  lessen  the 
hubbub  by  waving  his  hands  deprecatingly  at  them. 
"Gently,  sirs,  gently,"  he  pleaded,  and  in  response 
to  his  gestures  the  players  expressed  their  wishes  more 
quietly. 

Now,  while  Master  Bandy  was  dealing  with  these  new 
customers  my  lord  turned  to  Benedetta  where  they  stood 
on  the  gallery  and  said  to  her,  "Were  it  not  sport  to  get 
these  mummers  to  clown  for  us  ?" 

Benedetta  clapped  her  hands  joyously.  "A  good  thought, 
dear  one.  Her  Grace  of  Tyrconnel  loves  stage  plays  — 
and  so  do  I." 

My  lord  leaned  over  the  balcony  and  called  to  Bur- 
den, "Master  player,  master  player,  a  word  with  you." 

Master  Burden  heard  the  voice,  swung  round  and  struck 
an  imposing  attitude.  "Who  calls  from  the  gods  ?"  he 
cried. 

Bandy  came  close  to  him  and  whispered  behind  his 
hand,  "'Tis  my  Lord  Sedgemouth,  a  great  noble." 

My  lord  asked  Burden:  "Are  you  and  your  fellows  too 
weary  with  travel  to  play  something  shortly  for  our  enter- 
tainment ?" 

Master  Burden  rebuffed  the  suggestion  of  fatigue  cheer- 
ily. "Never  say  it,  never  think  it,"  he  protested.  Then 
he  turned  to  the  others,  who  were  now  grouped  together 
and  staring  up  at  the  fine  lady  and  the  fine  gentleman 
on  the  gallery.  "How  say  ye,  my  hearts,  shall  we  give 
his  lordship  a  taste  of  our  quality  ?" 

Mistress  Oldmixon  swam  a  little  forward  and  dipped  a 
profound  courtesy  for  my  lord's  benefit.  "I  ask  nothing 
better  than  to  please  his  lordship,"  she  declared. 

Conamur  following  her  lead  made  Benedetta  a  profound 
161 


THE   OTLYNN 

salutation.     "Nor  I,"  he  declared,  "that  to  please  her 
ladyship." 

Mistress  Free  said  nothing;  she  only  laughed  quietly  to 
herself. 

As  for  Winshaw,  his  inclination  was  to  grumble  and  he 
grumbled.  "I  need  some  immediate  refreshment,"  he 
said,  surlily. 

"So  do  I,"  declared  Tulpin,  backing  him. 

Perhaps  my  lord  heard  them,  at  least  he  continued  his 
conversation  with  Master  Burden  as  if  he  had  done  so. 
"You  shall  sup  at  my  cost  and  a  guinea  apiece  for  your 
pains  over  your  lawful  charges,"  he  promised. 

Master  Burden  was  delighted.  "Say  no  more,  my 
lord,"  he  cried.  "We  are  yours  to  command." 

It  was  now  Benedetta's  turn  to  speak,  and  she  addressed 
Master  Burden  very  graciously.  "What  can  you  play, 
sir?"  she  asked. 

Master  Burden  spread  out  his  arms  as  if  with  the 
intention  of  suggesting  universal  ability.  "Our  heads  are 
stocked  with  comedies,  D'Urfey,  Killigrew,  Glorious  John 
— what  you  will.  But  taken  as  we  are,  I  should  say  that 
The  Emperor  of  the  Moon  would  be  as  apt  as  any." 

Benedetta  turned  with  a  delighted  smile  to  Lord  Sedge- 
mouth.  "Yes,  let  it  be  The  Emperor  of  the  Moon,  my 
dear  lord." 

Sedgemouth  made  her  a  bow.  "As  you  please,  sweeting. 
Will  you  tell  Her  Grace  of  Tyrconnel  of  the  pleasure  we 
prepare  for  her?" 

Benedetta  smiled  upon  him  and  moved  quickly  toward 
the  door  that  masked   the  viceroy's   party.     She  opened 
it,  letting  out  a  little  breeze  of  laughter,  then  she  passed 
through  and  shut  it  behind  her. 
162 


MY  LORD  SEES  FANCY  FREE 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  slowly  descended  the  stairs, 
while  the  players  waited  upon  his  pleasure  until  he  had 
reached  their  level.  Then  he  spoke  to  them  again.  "As 
for  you,  friends,  when  you  have  had  bite  and  sup,  Master 
Bandy  will  show  you  the  way  to  our  presence." 

Burden  bowed  deeply.  "We  humbly  thank  your 
lordship." 

By  this  time  Master  Bandy  had  been  reinforced  by  the 
appearance  of  his  drawer,  to  whose  care  he  committed  the 
players  while  he  himself  retired  into  the  background  and 
busied  himself  with  his  bottles. 

Hendrigg  bade  the  players  follow  him  and  he  led  them 
out  of  the  hall  through  a  door  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
All  had  passed  through  save  Fancy  Free  and  she  was 
about  to  follow  when  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  tapped  her 
lightly  on  the  arm.  She  turned  and  faced  him,  and  there 
was  a  mocking  smile  on  her  mischievous  face. 

"You  are  a  pretty  girl,"  Lord  Sedgemouth  said,  coolly. 

Fancy  looked  at  him  pertly.  "Do  you  think  so?"  she 
questioned. 

My  lord  looked  surprised.  "Do  not  you  think  so?"  he 
asked. 

Fancy  smiled  demurely.  "I  know  it,"  she  said,  de- 
cisively. "But  I  heard  what  you  said  to  your  great  lady 
just  now,  and  I  think  your  mind  is  not  fixed  as  to  my  good 
looks." 

My  lord  laughed  heartily.  "Bah!  she  was  jealous,"  he 
declared,  "as  well  she  might  be,  for  I'll  swear  you  are 
radiantly  fair!  Here  is  a  kiss  for  forgiveness."  As  he 
spoke  he  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  made  to  kiss  her  on 
the  lips,  but  the  girl,  being  by  no  means  taken  unawares, 
was  too  dextrous  for  his  purpose  and  evaded  him. 
163 


THE    O'FLYNN 

"I  do  not  kiss  for  nothing,"  she  declared,  as  she  slipped 
away  from  his  arms. 

My  lord  laughed  again  and  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips. 
"Then  I  hope  we  may  come  to  terms,"  he  said,  quietly. 

Fancy  looked  steadily  at  him;    then  she  smiled  enig- 
matically and  went  after  her  companions. 

My  lord  took  snuff,  slowly  mounted  the  stairs  again 
and  disappeared  in  his  turn  into  the  room  on  the  gallery. 
••^Master  Bandy,  that  had  been  a  witness  of  the  by-play 
between  my  lord  and  the  player,  lifted  up  his  hands  wirfl* 
an  air  of  mock  horror.  "Oh,  my  lord,  my  lord,"  he 
murmured.  He  then  went  to  the  table  where  Lord  Sedge- 
mouth  had  been  sitting  at  the  time  of  his  interview  with 
Hendrigg.  He  examined  the  bottle  and  finding  it  un- 
finished, poured  out  a  glass  for  himself  and  drank  it  off 
with  evident  satisfaction.  As  he  set  down  the  glass  his 
attention  was  caught  by  the  sound  of  a  lusty  voice  in  the 
street  singing  a  lively  snatch  of  a  lively  song.  "There 
goes  a  merry  fellow,"  he  said;  then  he  corrected  himself, 
"No — he  doesn't  go,  he  stops." 


XVI 

NEW    PLUMAGE 

THE  door  of  the  inn  was  thrown  noisily  open  and  Flynn 
O'Flynn  entered  the  hall  with  a  swaggering  manner 
that  seemed  ill-assorted  with  the  dingy  garments  which  he 
still  wore.  He  was  followed  at  a  respectful  distance  by 
Master  Beggles,  who  appeared  to  regard  his  new  leader 
with  a  curious  mixture  of  admiration  and  awe.  The  rea- 
son why  the  O'Flynn  did  not  put  in  an  appearance  at  the 
Isle  of  Cyprus  inn  at  the  same  time  as  the  rest  of  the 
players  was  a  simple  matter  enough.  Though  the  coach 
travelled  a  little  swifter  than  the  wain,  the  two  vehicles 
had  both  made  their  appearance  in  Dublin  at  the  same 
time  and  the  players  at  once  made  their  way  to  the  hos- 
telry of  their  choice.  Their  one  wish  was  for  rest  and  re- 
freshment, but  O'Flynn,  whose  war-hardened  carcass  the 
discomforts  of  the  wain  had  failed  to  trouble,  had  other 
thoughts  than  food  and  drink  and  repose. 

Promising  the  Fellowship  to  join  them  speedily,  his  first 
course  was  to  ascertain  the  whereabouts  of  a  barber's  shop. 
This  found,  he  directed  Coin  and  Gosling  to  seek  out  the 
best  tailor  in  the  neighborhood  and  bring  him  with  a 
choice  assortment  of  his  wares  to  the  Isle  of  Cyprus  inn. 
Then  the  O'Flynn,  with  Beggles  in  tow,  entered  the  bar- 
ber's shop,  and  was  duly  shaved  and  trimmed  and  essenced 
165 


THE    O'FLYNN 

till  his  head,  thus  suddenly  made  modish,  formed  a  whim- 
sical contrast  to  the  ragged  apparel  of  the  body.  Now, 
fresh  from  the  barber's  and  at  the  top  of  high  spirits  the 
O'Flynn  strode  across  the  floor  of  the  hall.  Master  Beg- 
gles,  whose  frame  was  less  calculated  to  resist  the  hard- 
ships of  travel  in  a  country  wagon  over  a  country  road, 
dropped  wearily  into  a  chair.  The  O'Flynn  addressed 
him,  cheeringly: 

"Courage,  comrade,"  he  cried,  "the  devil  is  dead." 
Then  he  turned  to  Master  Bandy.  "Is  this  the  Isle  of 
Cyprus  inn  ?"  he  asked. 

Master  Bandy,  who  had  been  surveying  his  new  visitor 
with  a  great  air  of  disfavor,  nodded  his  head.  "It  is,"  he 
said  curtly. 

O'Flynn,  not  noticing  or  not  heeding  the  surliness  of  the 
man's  manner,  continued  his  questioning.  "Are  you  the 
landlord  of  that  same  ?" 

Again  Master  Bandy  answered  with  the  same  uncivil 
brusqueness.  "I  am." 

Flynn  now  assumed  his  grandest  manner.  "Then  I'm 
heartily  glad  to  see  you.  My  friend  and  I  have  been 
travelling  in  a  country  cart — a  vile  method;  the  others 
fared  better  in  the  coach,  but  here  we  are  at  last!  for  which 
give  praise.  Oh,  by-the-way,  I  have  sent  a  couple  of 
friends  of  mine  to  find  a  tailor  to  fit  me  some  clothes.  Let 
them  be  sent  to  me  the  moment  they  arrive." 

As  he  gave  his  orders  in  this  magniloquent  manner  the 
surliness  of  the  landlord's  demeanor  increased.  "And 
who,  pray,  may  you  be?"  he  asked,  offensively.  "Are 
you  one  of  the  players  ?" 

The  O'Flynn  slapped  his  chest  sonorously.  "Am  I  one 
of  the  players?"  he  asked.  "Do  I  look  like  one  of  the 
166 


NEW   PLUMAGE 

players  ?  I  am  the  O'Flynn,  of  Castle  Famine — of  Castle 
O'Flynn,  I  should  say — Chevalier  of  the  Order  of  the  Rose 
of  Lithuania,  Knight  Commander  of  Poland,  and  Am- 
bassador Extraordinary  from  his  Majesty  King  Conachor 
LI  I.,  whom  Heaven  preserve!" 

Master  Bandy  looked  at  him  suspiciously  and  began  to 
believe  that  he  had  now  to  deal  with  a  madman.  "King 
who  ?"  he  asked. 

The  O'Flynn  condescended  to  repeat,  "Conachor  LIL, 
King  of  Munster." 

"King  of  what?"  Master  Bandy  asked,  scratching  his 
head. 

The  O'Flynn  eyed  him  scornfully.  "The  ignorance  of 
these  English,"  he  said  to  himself.  "They  think  their 
own  little  whipper-snapper  kinglets  are  the  only  tenpins 
in  the  world."  He  turned  to  the  landlord  again  and  ad- 
dressed him  peremptorily.  "Now,  fellow,  which  is  the 
best  room  in  the  house  ?" 

"Mine,"  Bandy  answered,  gruffly. 

"Then  I  take  it,"  Flynn  declared,  promptly. 

Bandy  shook  his  head.  "You  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 
You  can  shake  down  with  the  playermen,  if  they  be  willing, 
and  you  can  pay  your  share." 

The  suggestion  was  not  to  the  O'Flynn's  taste  and  he 
made  speed  to  decline  it.  "Sure,  I  like  the  playermen 
well  enough,  but  I've  a  mind  to  have  a  room  to  myself  this 
night." 

Master  Bandy  laughed  rudely.  "I  should  have 
thought,"  he  said,  "that  the  middle  of  a  field  was  the  most 
likely  place  of  your  honor's  lodging." 

O'Flynn  seemed  to  take  no  offence  at  the  insolence  of 
the  landlord's  speech.  On  the  contrary,  he  laughed  loudly. 
12  167 


THE   O'FLYNN 

"I  take  your  meaning,  you  rascal,"  he  said.  "You  think 
that  these  rags  and  tatters  are  more  suited  to  a  scarecrow 
than  a  gentleman."  Then,  suddenly  changing  to  a  ruder 
manner,  he  caught  Master  Bandy  by  the  ear  before  the 
alarmed  publican  could  escape  and  addressed  him  sternly. 
"But  I'd  have  you  know,  my  fine  fellow,  that  this  coat,  for 
all  its  troubles,  is  the  uniform  of  a  captain  of  Austrian 
Dragoons,  and  that  in  the  countries  I  come  from  we'd 
think  mighty  little  of  slitting  the  ears  of  any  blackguardly 
publican  that  lacked  respect." 

As  he  spoke  he  released  Bandy's  tingling  ear  and  gave 
him  a  push  which  sent  him  staggering  across  the  floor,  till 
he  brought  up  against  the  staircase,  on  which  he  fell  in  a 
sitting  posture,  which  he  retained  ruefully,  evidently  fearing 
a  further  attack  from  his  dangerous  visitor.  That  visitor 
meanwhile  had  turned  to  his  companion  and  commanded 
him  with  a  lordly  air,  "And  now,  Beggles,  give  this  fellow 
a  fistful  of  guineas  on  account,  and  see  that  he  does  my 
bidding." 

The  words  roused  Master  Beggles  from  his  fatigue  and 
his  chair.  "Dear  sir,"  he  protested,  advancing  toward 
the  O'Flynn,  "consider — a  fistful  of  guineas!" 

The  O'Flynn  frowned  disapproval  of  his  paltry  spirit. 
"Man,  man,  we  are  playing  for  great  stakes,  and  must  not 
haggle  over  trifles.  Give  him  five  guineas  as  I  tell  you." 

With  an  air  of  sour  disapproval  Master  Beggles  crossed 
the  floor  to  the  place  where  Bandy  was  sitting  and,  pro- 
ducing a  well-filled  purse,  arranged  five  guineas  in  a  row 
on  the  table  hard  by.  The  sight  of  the  coins  had  a 
remarkable  effect  upon  Master  Bandy.  He  rose  to  his 
feet  with  alacrity,  forgetting  his  physical  injuries,  and 
swiftly  pocketing  the  gold  pieces  he  saluted  the  O'Flynn  as 
168 


NEW   PLUMAGE 

respectfully  as  if  he  had  been  the  viceroy  himself.  As 
for  Master  Beggles,  he  ostentatiously  produced  a  note- 
book and  entered  to  O'Flynn's  account  the  amount 
expended. 

"Your  lordship  has  but  to  command,"  Bandy  said. 

And  Flynn  nodded  approval.  "Come,  that's  better. 
Guineas  buy  manners.  Now,  in  the  first  place,  I  want 
your  room." 

Master  Bandy  abased  himself.     "Yes,  my  lord." 

Flynn  went  on:  "And  in  the  second  place  as  good  a 
supper  as  you  can  muster,  with  the  best  wine  in  your 
cellar.  Send  it  soon,  and  send  it  good,  and  set  it  here." 
As  he  spoke  he  pointed  to  the  table  near  the  fireplace,  the 
table  at  which  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  and  Hendrigg  had 
held  their  conference  earlier  in  the  evening. 

Master  Bandy  bowed  again.  "Yes,  my  lord!"  he 
repeated. 

At  this  moment  Hendrigg  entered  the  room  through  the 
street  door  and  advanced  to  his  master.  "There  are  a 
couple  of  fellows  without,"  he  said,  "and  a  tailor  asking 
to  see  a  nobleman  that  bade  them  come  here." 

The  sound  of  Hendrigg's  voice  conveyed  the  sense  of 
his  words  very  clearly  to  the  O'Flynn's  ears,  but  it  con- 
veyed something  else  besides;  a  memory,  a  suspicion,  a 
wonder.  He  answered  first  the  sense  of  the  words.  "I 
am  that  nobleman,"  he  said. 

Hendrigg  turned  and  looked  at  Flynn.  Perhaps  any 
one  who  knew  Hendrigg  well  might  have  detected  a 
slight  glance  of  recognition  in  his  seeming  indifferent 
eyes.  Those  who  did  not  know  Hendrigg  well  would  not 
have  seen  so  much.  He  made  as  if  to  move  away,  but 
Flynn,  answering  now  to  the  second  interest  that  the 
169 


THE   O'FLYNN 

sound  of  Hendrigg's  voice  had  aroused  in  him,  signed 
to  him  to  stop,  and  Hendrigg  came  to  a  halt,  standing 
respectfully  before  him. 

"Wait  a  bit,  my  fine  fellow,"  O'Flynn  said.  "Where 
have  I  heard  your  voice  before  ?" 

Hendrigg  shook  his  head.  "  I  cannot  tell,  your  honor," 
he  answered,  quietly.  "In  London,  belike.  I  am  a 
London  man.  But  I  cannot  recall  ever  seeing  your  honor 
before." 

O'Flynn  tapped  his  forehead  meditatively.  "Where 
was  it  ?"  he  asked,  "where  was  it  ?"  Then  with  a  sudden 
inspiration  he  cried,  "By  glory,  you  remind  me  of  my 
highwayman  on  the  Cork  road." 

Hendrigg  eyed  him  with  a  look  of  offended  virtue. 
"Your  honor  is  uncomplimentary,"  he  protested.  "Your 
honor  is  mistaken.  I  am  an  honest  publican's  drawer 
of  London,  come  over  here  to  aid  Mr.  Bandy."  He 
turned  to  Bandy  as  he  spoke  and  the  honest  publican 
backed  his  words: 

"That  is  so,  sir.  He  came  to  me  with  the  best  of 
characters." 

O'Flynn  accepted  the  statement.  "Then  it's  mistaken 
I  am,"  he  said,  "and  I  ask  your  pardon." 

Hendrigg  was  for  making  off  when  with  a  gesture 
O'Flynn  detained  him  while  he  added,  "  But  if  you  are 
an  honest  man,  it's  a  pity  you  have  the  face  of  a  rogue.  Be 
off  with  you." 

Hendrigg,  impassive  and  expressionless,  quitted  the 
room. 

Flynn  turned  to  Master  Bandy,  "Now  tell  me,  honest 
landlord,  where  are  my  friends  the  players  ?" 

"Why,  your  honor,"  the  landlord  answered,  "as  soon 
170 


NEW   PLUMAGE 

as  they  arrived  they  were  commanded  by  my  Lord  Sedge- 
mouth  to  do  some  of  their  tricks  for  the  entertainment  of 
Her  Grace  of  Tyrconnel's  company  up  yonder." 

The  O'Flynn  seemed  annoyed.  "And  who  the  devil 
is  your  Lord  Sedgemouth  that  he  deprives  me  of  my 
friends  ?" 

Master  Bandy  explained  volubly.  "My  Lord  Sedge- 
mouth  is  a  great  noble  that  honors  me  much  with  his 
patronage.  To-night  he  is  one  of  a  fine  company — the 
viceroy  and  Her  Grace  of  Tyrconnel,  and  my  Lord 
Fawley,  and  Sir  George  Mayhew,  and  the  three  B's." 

O'Flynn  stared  at  him.  "What  are  the  three  B's  ?"  he 
asked. 

"Your  honor  must  be  strange  to  Dublin,"  Master  Bandy 
went  on  deferentially,  "not  to  have  heard  of  the  three  B's. 
The  three  B's  are  the  three  greatest  beauties  in  all  Dub- 
lin, or  in  all  the  world,  it  may  be  for  that  matter,  and 
they  are  called  the  three  B's  because  the  Christian  name 
of  each  of  them  begins  with  that  letter.  They  are  the 
Lady  Belinda  Fanshaw,  the  Lady  Barbara  Jarmyn,  and 
the  Lady  Benedetta  Mountmichael." 

As  the  words  came  from  Bandy's  lips  Flynn  gave  a  cry 
of  joy  so  loud  in  its  exultation  that  the  astonished  landlord 
fell  back  in  alarm  and  eyed  his  eccentric  guest  warily  as 
if  fearful  for  his  reason.  Flynn  advanced  upon  Bandy 
with  gleaming  eyes,  and  Bandy  retreated  before  him  with 
a  great  air  of  apprehension.  "Stop,  man,  stop,"  Flynn 
cried.  "Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  Lady  Benedetta 
Mountmichael  is  under  your  roof  at  this  blessed  and  holy 
minute  ?" 

Bandy  was  something  reassured  as  to  his  guest's  sanity 
by  this  question,  though  it  puzzled  him  not  a  little  to  im- 
171 


THE   O'FLYNN 

agine  any  degree  of  acquaintanceship  existing  between  the 
Lady  Benedetta  Mountmichael,  the  beauty,  the  toast,  the 
adored  of  the  gallants,  and  this  astonishing  ragamuffin  that 
was  so  shabbily  clad  and  yet  made  so  free  with  golden 
guineas.  "Yes,  indeed,"  he  asserted. 

The  O'Flynn  lifted  up  his  hands  in  an  ecstasy.  "Then 
this  is  not  a  tavern,  this  is  paradise.  I  shall  see  her  at 
once!  But  I  can't  see  her  like  this.  Where  is  that  damned 
tailor?" 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  door  opened  and  Hendrigg  entered 
the  room  followed  by  Coin  and  Gosling,  who  were  carrying 
a  box  between  them.  Coin  and  Gosling  were  gorgeously 
and  grotesquely  arrayed  in  showy  liveries  of  gold  and  crim- 
son that  fitted  them  very  ill,  but  with  which  they  appeared 
to  be  vastly  pleased.  They  were  followed  by  a  little  man 
in  a  dark  suit  who  bowed  very  respectfully.  Coin  tapped 
himself  on  the  chest  to  call  attention  to  his  change  of 
raiment. 

"We  took  this  occasion  to  make  ourselves  spruce  for 
his  honor." 

Gosling  grinned  with  delight.  "  We'll  do  you  credit  now, 
I'm  thinking,"  he  said. 

Flynn  was  almost  as  pleased  with  the  appearance  of  his 
followers  as  they  were.  "Splendid,  splendid,"  he  de- 
clared. He  turned  to  Beggles,  whose  face  was  wrinkled 
with  indignation.  "Don't  look  sour,  man;  I  suppose  we 
must  have  clothes." 

Beggles  pawed  the  air  protestingly.  "Usage,  warmth, 
and  decorum  suggest  as  much,  but  fashion  is  folly,  fashion 
is  costly." 

The  tailor  hastened  to  interfere  in  the  argument.  "Good- 
evening  to  your  honor,"  he  said.  "Sure,  you've  hit  upon 
172 


NEW   PLUMAGE 

the  right  man  in  all  Dublin  to  give  you  a  new  out- 
side." 

Flynn  surveyed  him  steadily.  "Now,  you'll  please  to 
understand  that  it's  mighty  well  dressed  I  mean  to  be. 
Sure,  I  know  that  fine  feathers  don't  make  fine  birds,  but 
all  the  same  your  fine  bird  has  fine  feathers." 

The  tailor  knuckled  his  forehead.  "Yes,  your  honor," 
he  said.  Then,  with  the  aid  of  Coin  and  Gosling,  he  pro- 
duced from  the  depth  of  the  chest  various  suits  of  clothes, 
the  most  of  which  were  handsome  and  in  good  condition. 

As  Flynn  eyed  them  he  continued  his  harangue.  "Also, 
I  am  going  into  the  presence  of  a  king — but  that's  nothing. 
Sure,  I'm  used  to  kings.  But  I  hope  soon  to  be  in  the 
presence  of  the  sweetest  lady  now  alive,  and  that  means  a 
great  deal,  my  friend." 

The  tailor  nodded.     "Yes,  your  honor,"  he  said. 

The  O'Flynn  smiled  benignly.  "I'm  glad  you  agree 
with  me,"  he  observed. 

At  this  moment  the  tailor  produced  a  very  gorgeous  coat 
of  blue  and  silver  brocade  which  caught  and  captivated 
the  O'Flynn's  fancy. 

"That  seems  to  be  a  handsome  thing,  that  blue  and 
silver;  I  like  that  finely!  With  a  flowered  waistcoat  now 
and  some  gallooned  small-clothes  I  ought  to  cut  a  pretty 
figure." 

"  It's  the  very  thing  for  your  worship,"  Coin  agreed,  en- 
thusiastically. 

"I'll  be  trying  that  same  on  this  minute,"  Flynn  declared. 

The  landlord  pointed  out  that  the  public  hall  of  an  inn 
was  no  place  wherein  to  effect  a  change  of  wardrobe.  But 
Flynn  was  too  impatient  to  bring  about  his  metamorphosis 
to  consent  to  ascend  to  his  room.  So  he  agreed  to  the 


THE   O'FLYNN 

landlord's  suggestion  to  avail  himself  of  a  kind  of  bar- 
parlor  in  which  Master  Bandy  took  his  ease.  Here,  with 
the  aid  of  his  faithful  varlets,  he  shifted  from  his  shabby 
clothes  into  his  fine  new  suit  and  came  forth  into  the  hall 
of  the  Isle  of  Cyprus  with  great  majesty.  He  admired 
himself  in  a  small  mirror  Master  Bandy  offered  him  from 
the  dresser  and  protested  cheerfully: 

"It's  a  dream  of  delight  I'd  call  myself  if  I  met  myself 
on  the  street." 

Gosling  sunned  himself  in  the  splendor  of  his  master. 
"Faith,  you're  finer  than  the  lord  mayor,"  he  declared. 

Flynn  laughed,  but  he  was  flattered  none  the  less  at 
the  intended  compliment.  "You're  very  polite,"  he  said. 
Then  he  bade  Coin  and  Gosling  convey  his  discarded 
garments  to  his  bedroom  and  ordered  Beggles  to  pay  the 
tailor,  a  task  which  that  worthy  man  fulfilled  very  re- 
luctantly. 

When  Coin  and  Gosling  and  the  tailor  had  departed, 
O'Flynn  turned  eagerly  to  Bandy.  "And  now,  landlord, 
for  the  love  of  Heaven  find  me  pen,  ink,  and  paper." 

"They  are  here,  your  honor,"  the  landlord  answered, 
producing  the  desired  articles  from  a  drawer  in  the 
dresser. 

Flynn  seated  himself  at  the  table  and  began  to  write, 
murmuring  as  he  did  so,  "Well,  if  this  isn't  too  wonderful!" 
When  he  had  written  he  read  the  letter  over  to  himself  in 
a  low  voice:  "To  the  Lady  Benedetta  Mountmichael, 
these.  The  ambassador  from  the  King  of  Munster 
presents  his  humblest  respects  and  begs  to  be  allowed  to 
wait  upon  her  ladyship's  pleasure." 

He  closed  the  letter,  sealed  it  and  handed  it  to  Bandy. 
"Honest  man,  will  you  take  instant  occasion  to  convey 
174 


NEW   PLUMAGE 

this  to  the  Lady  Benedetta  Mountmichael  ?  Then,  but 
not  till  then,  you  can  set  about  supper." 

Bandy  took  the  letter,  staring  in  surprise  at  Flynn  as  he 
did  so.  Then  he  went  slowly  up  the  stairs  and  entered 
the  room  occupied  by  the  viceroy's  party. 

When  he  was  out  of  sight,  Flynn  hurried  to  Beggles 
triumphantly.  "Man,  man,"  he  cried,  "isn't  it  glorious 
to  think  she  is  here — under  the  happy  roof  of  this  sacro- 
sanct tavern  ?  Why  don't  you  dance  man,  why  don't 
you  sing  ?" 

"You  will  pardon  me,"  Beggles  protested,  "but  I  do 
not  understand  your  raptures." 

Flynn  raged  at  him.  "Oh,  sluggish  churl!  I  am 
speaking  of  the  loveliest  lady  in  the  world." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  sir,"  Beggles  pleaded,  "have  a  care 
of  lovely  ladies.  They  are  mostly  a  sad  bar  to  fortune." 

"I  tell  you,  you  reptile,"  Flynn  said  scornfully,  "it  is 
the  fairest  fortune  in  the  world  to  be  permitted  to  serve 
such  a  lady." 

Beggles  pricked  up  his  ears.  "Is  there  money  in  it; 
is  there  advancement  ?"  he  questioned. 

Flynn  took  him  by  the  shoulders  and  shook  him.  "If 
you  talk  like  that  any  more  I  shall  do  you  a  mischief.  Oh, 
by  the  Lord,  there  she  is."  His  quick  ear  had  heard  the 
door  above  open  and  a  light  footfall  on  the  gallery.  He 
seized  Beggles'  hand  and  laid  it  against  his  breast.  "Put 
your  hand  on  my  heart,  man,  and  feel  how  it  beats  the 
reveille.  And  now,  begone!  Join  the  landlord,  watch 
the  supper,  do  what  you  please  but  begone!" 


XVII 

BENEDETTA   DESCENDS  THE    STAIRS 

FLYNN  pushed  Beggles  away  from  him,  and  the  poor 
man,  with  a  gesture  of  despair,  quitted  the  hall. 

The  Lady  Benedetta  was  standing  on  the  gallery  looking 
down  and  smiling. 

Flynn  advanced  and  saluted  her. 

Benedetta  leaned  over.  "It  is  you  then,  O'Flynn.  I 
guessed  it  must  be  when  I  got  your  mad  message." 

"Never  call  it  mad,"  Flynn  protested,  "when  it  gave  me 
the  sweet  sight  of  you  like  this." 

The  girl  laughed  at  his  rhapsodies.  "What  are  you 
doing  here  ?"  she  asked. 

He  made  her  a  bow.  "Doing  your  pleasure,  lady,"  he 
answered. 

"Have  you  come  to  serve  the  king?"  she  questioned 
eagerly. 

And  he  answered  her  instantly,  "I  have  come  to  serve 
the  queen." 

Benedetta  shook  her  head.    "The  queen  is  in  France." 

"The  queen  I  mean  is  in  Ireland,"  Flynn  asserted. 
"The  queen  I  mean  is  the  girl  for  whose  sake  I  have  come 
to  Dublin — the  queen  I  mean  is  at  the  top  of  those  stairs, 
and  I  wish  she  would  come  down  them." 

"Oh,  I  cannot  come  down,"  Benedetta  declared,  "I 
176 


BENEDETTA  DESCENDS  THE  STAIRS 

must  not  stop  away  a  minute  —  the  company  will  miss 
me." 

"If  you  are  the  girl  I  take  you  for,"  Flynn  said  per- 
suasively, "it's  mighty  little  you  care  for  the  company. 
Come  down,  angel,  while  I  tell  you  what  brings  me  to 
Dublin." 

Benedetta  seemed  firm.  "You  are  an  imperious 
pleader,  but  I  must  deny  you." 

The  O'Flynn  was  never  a  man  to  take  "no"  for  an 
answer  in  the  Courts  of  Love.  "Don't  do  that  same," 
he  entreated,  "don't  do  it!  Sure,  you  were  never  made  to 
refuse  a  kindness  to  a  very  deserving  soldier  of  fortune. 
Now,  listen  to  me.  If  you  will  come  down  here  to  me  for 
a  minute,  I  will  rhyme  you  a  rhyme  for  each  step  of  the 
stair  that  brings  you  nearer  to  me." 

Benedetta  looked  at  him  with  an  amused  smile  that  was 
not  without  a  certain  malicious  perverseness.  "Will  you 
so  ?"  she  asked,  teasingly. 

And  the  O'Flynn  answered  her  with  a  cheerful  alacrity. 
"I  will  so.  I  am  a  bit  of  a  poet  as  I  told  you  the  other 
day,  though  I  am  brisker  at  the  Gaelic  than  the  English. 
Come  now — is  it  a  bargain  ?" 

He  gave  his  great  plumed  hat  a  jaunty  cock  to  one  side 
and  looked  up  at  his  lady  with  a  smile  in  which  roguish 
impudence  and  passionate  adoration  were  so  whimsically 
blended  that  Benedetta  did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  at 
his  insolence  or  to  weep  over  his  inevitable  woe.  She 
decided  to  laugh,  tempted  not  a  little  in  her  decision  by 
curiosity  to  see  if  this  astounding  gentleman  of  fortune 
could  keep  his  fantastical  promise.  She  moved  to  the 
head  of  the  stately  stairway  and  stood  there,  light  and 
fair,  her  delicate  coloring  a  little  deepened,  maybe,  by  the 
177 


THE   O'FLYNN 

strangeness  of  the  situation  and  the  oddness  of  her  wooer 
— the  wooer  for  whom,  as  she  assured  herself,  she  cared 
nothing,  but  who  certainly  diverted  her,  and  who  cer- 
tainly had  contrived  to  safeguard  his  gentility  through  the 
stress  of  adventurous  years. 

"Well,  essay,"  she  said,  "but  I  warn  you  that  if  you 
fail  at  a  single  stair  I  fall  back  instantly  and  vanish." 

Flynn  looked  at  her  longingly  with  the  desire  to  draw 
her  nearer  to  him  burning  hotly  in  his  heart.  "You  shall 
come  down,  you  shall  come  down,"  he  whispered  to  him- 
self, and  his  fanciful,  passionate  thoughts  began  shaping 
themselves  into  rhythms  and  rhymes.  He  made  a  splendid 
gesture  as  of  appeal  to  the  unseen  powers.  "Here  goes 
then — "  he  cried  to  his  angel,  and  followed  his  cry  with  a 
fervent  appeal  to  the  goddess  of  song,  "Oh,  my  vagabond 
Muse,  befriend  me." 

Then,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  enchanting  creature 
above  him,  he  began  to  improvise,  words  coming  trip-toe 
to  his  call  as  was  their  wont  when  he  needed  them : 

"Most  dainty,  most  gracious,  most  radiant,  most  fair, 
I  will  rhyme  you  a  rhyme  for  each  step  of  the  stair." 

As  he  paused  to  take  breath  after  this  auspicious  beginning, 
Benedetta  advanced  a  small  high-heeled  shoe  from  where 
she  stood  to  the  stair  immediately  below  her,  and  stood 
poised  there  with  a  tantalizing  smile  upon  her  face  as  if 
she  were  defying  her  mad  Irishman  to  keep  to  the  terms  of 
his  fantastic  contract.  But  the  O'Flynn  was  not  to  be 
daunted.  He  felt  the  spirit  of  song  swelling  within  his 
breast,  and  he  rattled  out  another  brace  of  rhymes  with 
a  rapidity  which  surprised  Benedetta  and  himself: 
178 


BENEDETTA   DESCENDS   THE   STAIRS 

"For  each  fall  of  your  foot  that  draws  nearer  the  place 
Where  I  wait  and  I  worship  the  light  of  your  face." 

Benedetta  came  down  a  pair  of  steps  this  time.  She 
was  tickled  by  his  whimsical  proposition  and  was  ready 
to  give  him  good  measure  of  encouragement. 

Flynn,  with  his  eyes  fixed  eagerly  on  his  nearing  divinity, 
essayed  a  third  couplet: 

"Are  you  woman  or  angel?     Whichever  you  be, 
Entertain  the  kind  thought  and  draw  nearer  to  me." 

The  appeal  was  promptly  answered  by  a  further  ap- 
proach of  the  fair  lady,  but  for  a  moment  Flynn's  inspira- 
tion seemed  to  halt  and  Benedetta  made  a  feint  to  retire. 

Thus  spurred,  Flynn  found  new  words  for  his  purpose: 

"Sure  the  king  has  his  ribbons,  the  king  has  his  stars, 
To  give  to  the  faithful  that  serve  in  his  wars." 

Benedetta  came  graciously  down  some  three  steps  in 
response  to  this  strophe,  and  Flynn  pursued  the  thought 
in  a  further  verse: 

"  But  I'd  change  all  the  gifts  that  the  king  can  command, 
For  one  smile  of  your  eyes,  for  one  touch  of  your  hand." 

Lured  by  Flynn's  fluent  muse,  Benedetta  continued  to 
descend  the  stairway.  She  was  more  than  half-way  down 
now  and  Flynn's  fancy  was  still  fertile. 

He  drew  breath  and  spoke  again: 

"And  there's  never  a  deed  that  a  hero  would  do, 

But  myself  would  achieve  it  in  honor  of  you." 

179 


THE   O'FLYNN 

Benedetta  seemed  to  think  that  her  poet's  powers  were 
flagging,  for  she  only  accorded  him  the  favor  of  a  single 
stair's  descent  in  return  for  this  verse. 

Flynn  noted  the  change  and  his  voice  grew  stronger, 
his  manner  more  animated  as  he  rolled  out  two  new  lines 
which  he  strove  to  charge  with  all  the  vehemence  of  his 
passion : 

"I  swear  me  your  soldier,  your  servant,  your  slave, 
To  the  height  of  my  hope,  to  the  depth  of  my  grave." 

Benedetta  was  taken  by  the  fervor  of  his  words,  of  his 
speech,  and  she  glided  down  several  of  the  steps  as  a 
proof  of  her  approval.  There  were  now  only  three  steps 
between  her  and  the  floor  of  the  hall. 

Flynn's  face  glowed  and  he  went  to  it  again  rapturously: 

"So  long  as  the  blackbirds  that  dwell  in  my  breast 
Can  sing  of  the  wonderful  world  you  have  blest." 

Benedetta  came  down  two  more  steps,  leaving  but  one 
to  be  overtrodden,  but  now  Flynn  paused,  seemed  to 
hesitate,  to  have  lost  command  of  words  and  ideas. 
Instantly  Benedetta,  roguish  and  tricksy,  gave  a  little  turn 
and  made  as  if  to  scamper  up  the  stairs  again  at  full 


Now,  whether  Flynn's  hesitation  had  been  natural  or 
no  more  than  the  plausible  artifice  of  the  artist,  he  cer- 
tainly recovered  his  wits  quickly  before  this  menace  of 
Benedetta's.  With  renewed  vigor  he  shouted  aloud  the 
continuation  of  the  thought  of  the  just  finished  verse : 

"My  song  shall  be  yours,  like  my  life  and  my  prayers" — 
180 


BENEDETTA   DESCENDS   THE   STAIRS 

He  waited  for  an  instant  playfully,  pretending  to  be 
troubled,  though  he  knew  very  well  what  was  coming; 
then  he  delivered  his  line  in  a  rush: 

"And  behold  you  have  come  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs." 

Even  as  he  said  the  last  word  Benedetta,  smiling  very 
sweetly  at  the  winner  of  the  wager,  stepped  daintily  on  the 
floor  of  the  hall. 

Flynn  sprang  forward  to  greet  her,  and,  dropping  on  his 
knee,  took  her  hand  tenderly  in  his  and  kissed  it  reverently. 
"Lady,"  he  said  jubilantly,  as  he  rose  to  his  feet,  "the 
last  time  we  met  I  promised  that  Dublin  should  know  me 
soon.  You  did  not  believe  me  then,  yet  here  I  am  in 
Dublin,  kissing  your  dear  hand.  You  have  given  King 
James  another  soldier,  for  behold  me  eager  to  serve  him." 
He  paused  for  an  instant,  and  then  concluded  emphati- 
cally, "Ah,  I  will  please  you  against  your  will." 

Benedetta  looked  at  him  with  very  kindly  eyes.  "In- 
deed, O'Flynn,"  she  declared,  "you  have  pleased  me,  and 
greatly." 

O'Flynn  gave  a  little  gasp  of  delight.  He  twirled  a 
pirouette,  fluttering  his  sky-blue  skirts  as  he  swung  on 
his  heels,  then  he  faced  the  girl  again,  and  pranced,  as  it 
were,  before  her  in  the  pride  of  his  brand-new  apparel. 
"What  do  you  think  of  these  clothes?"  he  asked  with  a 
kind  of  boyish  simplicity  of  pleasure  in  the  sporting  of 
unfamiliar  finery  that  diverted  Benedetta,  but  that  also 
touched  her. 

She  was  used  to  splendid  gentlemen  splendidly  gar- 
mented, but  she  seemed  to  understand  the  delight  of  this 
rough-and-ready  soldier  of  fortune  in  his  bright  habili- 
181 


THE   O'FLYNN 

ments.  "They  are  beautiful,"  she  averred,  sincerely 
enough,  for  if  the  coat  that  O'Flynn  had  chosen  was  a 
trifle  gaudier  than  the  precision  of  the  mode  would  wholly 
justify,  his  stalwart  person  and  manly  carriage  carried  it 
off  properly  enough  and  minimized  its  brilliancy. 

"Lady,"  he  declared,  "I  lay  them  at  your  feet—"  He 
checked  himself  abruptly  as  if  recognizing  the  incon- 
gruity of  the  remark,  and  added  hurriedly,  "meta- 
phorically, of  course."  He  was  silent  for  a  whole  second 
that  seemed  to  him  an  eternity;  then  he  cried  out  in  an 
ecstasy  of  delight,  "Ah,  Benedetta,  I  could  fly  out  of  my 
skiu  for  joy  of  seeing  you  again.  I  love  you  so  that  nothing 
can  withstand  my  love.  I  have  had  a  revelation  from 
Heaven  which  tells  me  that  the  earth  itself  was  created 
that  I  might  meet  you.  I  am  the  most  important  man  upon 
the  earth  because  I  love  you."  He  was  prepared  to  go  on 
this  strain  so  long  as  his  breath  lasted,  but  Benedetta 
lifted  a  finger  and  checked  him. 

"You  are  very  gallant,  Flynn,"  she  said,  gayly,  "but  I 
like  your  way  of  talk.  It  makes  me  think  of  the  fountains 
of  Versailles  on  a  fine  day,  all  the  little  drops  of  water 
dancing  in  the  sunlight.  I  suppose  you  could  go  on  like 
that  forever  ?" 

The  O'Flynn  laughed.  "What  good  for  a  man  to  be 
a  bit  of  a  poet  if  he  couldn't  find  words  for  his  heart  if 
his  heart  is  happy?" 

Benedetta  smoothed  out  the  dimples  of  her  smiling 
face  to  an  expression  of  great  gravity.  "Well,  Chevalier," 
she  said,  with  an  air  of  mock  earnestness  that  became 
her  vastly,  "it's  well  I  don't  take  you  too  seriously,  or 
your  heart  wouldn't  be  so  happy  as  you  say.  I  told  you 
I  was  ear-deep  in  love  with  a  man,  and  now  the  man  is 
182 


BENEDETTA  DESCENDS  THE  STAIRS 

ear-deep  in  love  with  me,  happy  wretch  that  I  am:  and 
we  are  to  be  married  whenever  I  can  get  my  father's 
consent." 

"And  mine,"  O'Flynn  commented  dryly. 

Benedetta  went  on  unheeding  him,  thrilled  by  her  theme. 
"He  is  the  handsomest  creature  in  the  world,  and  the 
gallantest;  the  face  of  an  angel,  the  figure  of  a  god,  the 
carriage  of  a  hero,  perfect  courtier,  perfect  soldier,  perfect 
lover!  Nay,  I  must  tell  you  no  more." 

If  Flynn  were  at  all  dashed  by  the  girl's  praises  of  her 
to  him  unknown  lover,  he  showed  no  sign  of  his  discom- 
fiture in  face  or  bearing.  "What  is  the  name  of  this 
nonpareil  ?"  he  asked  jauntily. 

Benedetta  denied  him  a  straight  answer.  "That  I 
must  not  tell  you,"  she  said,  "  for  we  have  not  yet  got  my 
father's  consent.  But  you  shall  know  in  good  time," 

Flynn  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Oh,  there's  no  hurry,'' 
he  declared,  truthfully  enough.  He  felt  there  was  more 
he  wanted  to  say,  but  while  he  was  seeking  how  to  say  it 
the  quiet  of  the  place  was  disturbed  by  a  distant  sound 
of  applause  that  came  to  them  by  way  of  the  gallery  and 
the  stairs,  through  the  closed  doors  of  the  viceroy's  room. 

Benedetta  started  at  the  sound.  "Hark!"  she  cried, 
"I  hear  them  clapping  their  hands.  I  must  go.  Likely 
the  play  is  beginning.  Farewell!" 

She  made  to  go,  but  Flynn  clawed  at  the  air  and  delayed 
her.  "Wait  a  bit,  lady,"  he  said,  "don't  think  I'm  dashed 
by  this  news  of  yours.  I  don't  care  a  damn  for  your 
Apollo.  I'm  your  wooer  still  and  mean  to  be  your  winner 
sooner  or  later." 

Benedetta  looked  at  him  with  a  little  quizzical  grin. 
"Ah,  you  fantastical  madman,"  she  cried,  and  then  swing- 
13  183 


THE   O'FLYNN 

ing  round  on  her  high  heels,  she  ran  swiftly  up  the  stairs, 
paused  for  a  moment  on  the  gallery  to  wave  him  a  salute 
that  was  half  derisive  and  half  kindly,  and  so  disappeared 
behind  the  panels  that  masked  the  viceroy's  pleasures. 
O'FIynn  bore  himself  defiantly  enough  till  the  last  whisk 
of  the  girl's  skirts  had  vanished,  but  then  his  devil-may- 
care  carriage  abandoned  him  and  he  dropped  very  de- 
spondently into  a  chair  by  the  table  near  the  fire. 


XVIII 

FANCY  FREE    PROPOSES 

"T~"\AMN  your  Apollo,"  he  murmured,  and  buried  his 
1— )  head  in  his  hands.  "Oh,  the  devil,  the  devil,  the 
devil,"  he  said  to  himself,  raging  and  despairingly., 

A  door  into  the  hall  opened,  the  door  hard  by  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  through  which  Master  Bandy's  drawer  had 
conducted  the  players  to  their  quarters.  Through  the  open 
door  a  head  was  popped,  a  head  of  a  girl,  pretty,  impudent, 
appealing — the  head  of  Mistress  Fancy  Free.  Fancy  saw 
that  the  O'Flynn  was  alone  and  she  slipped  into  the  room, 
crossed  the  floor  cat-foot  on  tiptoe  and  made  to  put  her 
arms  about  the  Irishman's  neck.  At  the  soft  pressure  of 
the  plump  flesh  O'Flynn  turned  with  a  wild  unreasonable 
cry  of  joy.  He  thought  for  a  moment,  being  a  hot-headed 
madman,  that  somehow  or  other  Benedetta  had  changed 
her  mind  and  returned  to  him,  and  that  he  was  free  to 
clasp  her  in  his  arms.  When  he  looked  into  the  impudent 
mutinous  face  of  Fancy  Free  he  drew  back  with  a  little 
start  and  some  stammering  apologies  of  which  the  girl  took 
no  notice.  It  was  plain  that  she  had  something  to  say  and 
was  eager  to  say  it. 

"I  have  just  learned  of  your  arrival,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "and  as  I'm  not  to  play  for  a  while  I  choose  to  chat 
with  you.  Why,  what  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself?" 
185 


THE   O'FLYNN 

Flynn,  who  had  risen  to  his  feet,  made  her  a  bow. 
"  Making  a  fine  gentleman  of  myself,  little  lady,"  he  an- 
swered. 

Fancy  dipped  him  a  courtesy.  "I  think  the  angels  had 
a  hand  at  that  before  you,"  she  said.  She  said  it  as  if 
she  meant  it,  but  Flynn  answered  her  as  if  she  jested : 

"  It's  making  game  of  me  you  are,  Mischief,"  he  said. 

Fancy  shook  her  head.  "No,  my  faith,"  she  protested, 
"do  you  know  there's  another  fine  gentleman  up  yonder 
been  making  wide  eyes  at  me.  I  believe  he'd  like  me  well 
enough  for  his  lady-love." 

Flynn  looked  with  a  kindly  interest  at  the  audacious 
creature  whose  looks  wooed  him  so  boldly.  "  Do  you 
mean  honorable?"  he  asked. 

Fancy  laughed  loudly.  "Lord,  no,  man.  Great  lords 
don't  think  honorably  of  the  likes  of  me." 

"Then  give  him  the  go-by,"  Flynn  suggested.  He  was 
exalted  by  his  own  romantic  passion  into  a  mood  for 
philosophic  advice;  yet,  even  as  he  gave  it,  his  sense  of 
humor  suggested  that  it  must  sound  incongruous  from  the 
lips  of  such  a  free-companion  as  himself. 

Fancy's  laughter  continued  full  and  frank  and  childlike. 
"Why,  you  dear  droll  man,"  she  cried,  "he  wouldn't  be 
the  first  and  he  won't  be  the  last — if  I  go  on  as  I  am  going." 

He  looked  at  her  musing.  "It's  a  pity,  I'm  thinking," 
he  said,  slowly. 

Fancy  hunched  her  pretty  shoulders  and  made  a  mock- 
ing face  at  him.  "Is  it?"  she  asked.  "I  don't  know." 
She  sidled  a  little  nearer  to  Flynn  and  nudged  him  caress- 
ingly with  her  elbow.  "Tall  soldierman,  I  have  a  tale 
to  tell  you." 

Flynn  surveyed  her  with  good-humored  curiosity.     "I 
186 


FANCY    FREE   PROPOSES 

hope  it's  prettier  than  your  last,"  he  said,  "for  such  pretty 
lips  to  tell." 

Fancy  suddenly  reached  out  her  hands  and  caught  at 
the  lappets  of  Flynn's  gorgeous  new  coat  as  if  she  had  a 
mind  to  draw  his  face  nearer  to  hers,  while  she  spoke  after 
a  fashion  that  was  part  bravado  and  part  earnestness, 
"I  have  taken  a  great  fancy  to  you,  soldierman,"  she  said. 

O'Flynn  made  a  wry  face.  He  was  not  taking  the  girl 
seriously,  but  he  was  thinking  serious  thoughts.  "I  wish 
others  shared  your  taste,"  he  murmured,  ruefully. 

Fancy  persisted.  "I'm  as  earnest  as  a  hungry  owl. 
Shall  I  tell  you  I  like  you — love  you  ?" 

O'Flynn  began  to  realize  that  he  was  in  the  whimsical 
position  of  being  wooed  by  this  delicious  creature  and  that 
by  the  irony  of  Fate  he  must  be  wooed  in  vain.  He  strove 
to  put  her  off.  "Be  easy,  minx!  Is  it  me  with  this  face 
on  me  ?" 

Fancy  derided  his  humility.  "Do  you  think  I'm  a  fine 
lady,"  she  asked,  "to  be  snared  by  a  pretty  face  ?  I'm  a 
play-actress  to  whom  looks  are  no  more  than  make-up. 
But  you  are  a  bit  of  a  true  man,  tall  soldier." 

Flynn  looked  at  her  between  laughing  and  crying.  The 
situation  was  not  of  his  choosing,  was  not  to  his  taste. 
He  wished  himself  well  out  of  it.  "Thank  you  kindly 
for  thinking  that  same,"  he  said,  soberly. 

The  girl  nestled  temptingly  against  his  side.  "Couldn't 
we  make  a  match  of  it?"  she  whispered.  "Wait  now, 
don't  speak  for  a  minute.  You  needn't  marry  unless  you 
like,  but  I  love  you  and  I'd  be  true  to  you.  We've  both 
been  in  the  wars  and  been  wounded.  You  are  no  more  of 
a  perfect  man  than  I  am  a  perfect  woman,  but  we  might 
be  happy  together." 

187 


THE   O'FLYNN 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  sincerity  of  Fancy's  words, 
there  was  no  mistaking  the  look  in  Fancy's  eyes,  there  was 
no  mistaking  the  tender  pressure  of  Fancy's  fingers.  Flynn 
took  the  girl's  hands  gently  and  put  them  away  from  him. 
"Mistress  Fancy,"  he  said,  gravely  and  simply,  meaning 
all  he  said,  "you  do  me  a  great  honor,  and  so  long  as  I  live 
I  shall  think  better  of  the  world  and  of  myself  because  of 
your  favor.  And  you  mustn't  think  that  anything  that's 
happened  in  your  life  would  go 'against  you  with  me.  It's 
the  love  that's  everything — the  love  of  a  man  for  a  woman, 
the  love  of  a  woman  for  a  man.  If  this  had  happened  a 
little  while  ago  I  should  have  been  blithe  to  take  you  in  my 
arms.  But  now  I  can't." 

Fancy  looked  up  at  him  tearfully  blinking  away  tears. 
"Do  you  love  some  one  else?"  she  asked. 

Flynn  drew  himself  up.  "Yes,"  he  answered,  "through 
God's  anger  and  God's  mercy  I  love  some  one  else,  and 
I  mean  to  make  her  love  me  before  I've  done  with  her. 
But  it  will  take  a  bit  of  doing,  I'm  thinking." 

Fancy  looked  steadily  at  him.  "You  are  in  earnest?" 
she  questioned,  and  then  reading  the  answer  on  his  set 
face,  she  sighed:  "yes,  you  are  in  earnest.  Then  I  think 
I  will  go  back  to  my  fine  gentleman." 

"Don't  do  that,  child,"  Flynn  entreated. 

Fancy  tossed  her  head.  "Nay,"  she  protested,  "I  must 
feather  my  own  nest  since  you  will  not  make  one  for  me." 

As  she  turned  to  leave  him  the  door  on  the  gallery  above 
opened,  the  door  that  helped  to  sequestrate  the  viceroy 
from  the  rest  of  the  world,  the  familiar  ripple  of  mirth 
flowed  forth  for  a  moment  as  a  small  party  of  gentlemen 
issued  from  the  apartment,  and,  closing  the  door  behind 
them,  began  to  descend  the  stairs  with  different  degrees 
1 88 


FANCY   FREE   PROPOSES 

of  unsteadiness.  The  gentlemen  were  my  Lord  Sedge- 
mouth,  my  Lord  Fawley,  Sir  George  Mayhew,  and  Cap- 
tain Scully — the  three  last-named  being  bloods  and  wits 
in  the  Dublin  society  of  the  day.  They  were  talking  to- 
gether as  they  descended. 

"I  am  weary  of  the  players,"  Sedgemouth  protested  with 
a  yawn. 

My  Lord  Fawley  tittered  foolishly  to  mask  a  hiccough. 
"Yet  they  divert  the  ladies,"  he  said,  "and  the  viceroy, 
vastly." 

Scully,  who  seemed  less  deep  in  wine  than  either  Sedge- 
mouth  or  Fawley,  observed,  "Her  grace  must  needs  have 
them  to  it  again." 

By  this  time  the  party  was  more  than  half-way  down  the 
stairs,  and  Sir  George  Mayhew  caught  sight  of  Fancy 
where  she  lingered  in  the  hall,  lingering  purposely,  indeed, 
because  of  the  coming  of  the  gentry.  "Why,  there's  one 
of  the  players,"  he  called  out. 

Sedgemouth,  following  the  direction  of  his  extended 
finger,  recognized  Fancy.  "And  the  best  of  the  bunch," 
he  cried,  hilariously. 

He  descended  the  rest  of  the  stairs  at  a  run  that  came 
near  to  a  disastrous  conclusion,  but  rallied  himself  against 
the  pedestal.  He  lurched  forward  amorously  toward 
Fancy,  who  waited  for  his  advances  simpering  and  minc- 
ing. "  Shall  I  see  you  to-morrow,  sweet  ? "  he  asked,  thickly. 

Fancy  dipped  him  a  courtesy,  tipped  him  a  mischievous 
wink.  "Very  likely,  your  lordship,"  she  answered,  de- 
murely, and  then  as  he  made  to  lay  hands  on  her  she  slipped 
away  and  disappeared  through  the  door  by  which  she  had 
entered,  leaving  him  like  a  new  Ixion  to  close  his  fingers 
on  empty  air. 

189 


XIX 

HOT  PUNCH  AND  COLD   STEEL 

O  EDGEMOUTH  and  his  companions  had  seated  them- 
O  selves  about  the  table  that  stood  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  and  prepared  to  enjoy  themselves.  So  far  they  took 
no  notice  of  Flynn  where  he  stood  apart  by  the  hearth 
staring  moodily  into  the  fire.  Sir  George  Mayhew  pro- 
duced a  pack  of  cards  from  his  pocket  and  proposed  cutting 
for  ten  guineas  a  cut. 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  slapped  the  table  noisily  with  his 
open  palm.  "Landlord,  landlord,  I  say,  landlord,"  he 
shouted. 

From  the  distant  regions  of  the  kitchen  Bandy's  voice 
was  heard  in  answer,  crying,  "Coming,  my  lord,  coming." 

A  moment  later  Master  Bandy  entered  the  room  bearing 
the  O'Flynn's  supper  on  a  tray,  and  followed  by  Beggles. 
Bandy  placed  his  tray  on  the  table  near  the  hearth,  left 
its  contents  for  Beggles  to  set  out,  and  hastened  to  give  his 
attention  to  the  gentlemen  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  who 
by  this  time  were  deep  in  their  cutting  of  the  pack  and 
changing  piles  of  guineas  briskly. 

Sedgemouth  greeted  Bandy  impatiently.  "Punch, 
man,"  he  shouted,  "punch." 

Bandy  bowed.     "Yes,  my  lord,"  he  said. 

Flynn,  seated  at  the  table  and  already  busy  sharing  his 
190 


HOT  PUNCH  AND  COLD  STEEL 

supper  and  his  Burgundy  with  Beggles,  turned  to  Bandy 
and  commanded  him  with  his  mouth  full,  "You  may  brew 
me  a  bowl  of  the  same  elixir,  landlord." 

Bandy  bowed  again.  "Yes,  your  honor,"  he  answered, 
and  sped  toward  the  kitchen  to  compound  the  punch. 

Flynn's  order  for  drink  had  drawn  the  attention  of  the 
gamblers  to  him,  and  the  rich  coloring  of  his  new  clothes 
seemed  to  attract  the  fancy  of  Lord  Sedgemouth.  He 
rose  to  his  feet  with  some  uncertainty  and  advanced  a 
little  way  across  the  hall  toward  Flynn's  table.  "Is  the 
sun  in  my  eyes  that  I  see  strange  sights  ?"  he  asked, 
affecting  to  shade  his  eyes  with  lifted  hand  from  the 
brilliancy  of  O'Flynn's  attire.  "  Is  it  real  ?  What  is  it  ?" 

Scully  still  seated  at  that  table  but  joining  in  the  jest, 
questioned,  "Is  it  a  popinjay?"  and  my  Lord  Fawley, 
carrying  on  the  game,  suggested,  "Or  a  peacock  ?" 

Sedgemouth,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  hall,  waved 
them  down  with  an  extended  left  hand.  "I  take  it,"  he 
said,  with  tipsy  solemnity,  "for  a  scarecrow  stained  by  a 
rainbow." 

By  this  time  Flynn,  who  had  his  back  to  the  group,  and 
was  sturdily  engrossed  in  his  supper,  became  aware  that 
he  was  the  subject  of  the  gentlemen's  comments.  Mutter- 
ing to  himself,  "the  rascals,"  he  made  to  rise  from  his 
chair,  but  Beggles,  leaning  across  the  table,  restrained  him 
with  pleading  words  and  gestures.  "For  Heaven's  sake, 
sir,  let  them  be,"  he  entreated,  "they  are  drunk  beyond 
understanding  of  speech,  unworthy  your  honor's  notice." 

"  If  I  pull  their  noses,"  Flynn  answered,  furiously,  "  it 

will  sober  them."     He  glared  round  as  he  spoke,  but  by 

this  time  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  had  lost  all  interest  in  the 

parti-colored  stranger,  and  returning  to  his  companions 

191 


THE   O'FLYNN 

was  hard  at  it  again,  cutting  the  cards  and  losing  his 
guineas. 

Master  Beggles  took  advantage  of  the  changed  situation 
to  homilise.  "Consider,  dear  sir,  the  consequences  of  a 
quarrel  now.  Risking  your  new  clothes,  risking  your  life, 
your  precious  life." 

Flynn  sighed  and  swallowed  a  glass  of  Burgundy  at 
a  draught  without  seeming  solaced.  "There  are  mo- 
ments," he  said,  "when  I  wish  you  were  not  my  banker, 
Master  Beggles."  He  turned  to  the  consideration  of  his 
supper  gloomily  as  he  spoke,  and  he  and  his  companion 
proceeded  with  their  meal  untroubled  for  some  minutes. 

Then  the  quiet  of  the  room  was  disturbed  by  my  Lord 
Sedgemouth,  who  banged  his  handful  of  cards  on  the  table 
in  a  rage.  "Curse  the  cards,"  he  screamed  in  a  rage, 
"was  there  ever  such  infernal  luck  ?" 

Mayhew,  pocketing  my  lord's  guineas  cheerfully,  pro- 
tested. "  Damn  it,  man,  you  can't  have  everything.  You 
are  lucky  enough  in  love." 

Sedgemouth  stretched  out  his  legs  and  thrust  his  hands 
into  his  breeches  pockets.  "Luck  in  love  won't  fill  my 
pockets,"  he  grumbled. 

My  Lord  Fawley  leaned  over  and  said  in  an  audible 
whisper,  "A  little  bird  sang  that  you  sometimes  take  toll 
for  your  favors." 

Sedgemouth  greeted  the  innuendo  with  a  grunt,  and 
Scully  continued,  "Well,  your  exchequer  will  be  re- 
plenished when  you  win  Lady  Benedetta." 

O'Flynn,  that  had  been  wholly  inattentive  to  the  doings 
of  his  neighbors,  caught  the  name  that  fell  from  Scully's 
lips,  and  instantly  alert,  "Lady  Benedetta,"  he  echoed 
angrily  and  turned  his  head  toward  the  others. 
192 


HOT  PUNCH  AND  COLD  STEEL 

Those  others  were  paying  him  no  manner  of  attention. 
They  had  forgotten  his  existence;  they  were  occupied 
solely  with  their  own  immediate  concerns,  with  their  own 
idle,  loose  talk,  with  their  own  idle,  loose  thoughts.  My 
Lord  Sedgemouth  chuckled  with  an  air  of  vinous  sagacity. 
"Why,  I  have  won  her  already,"  he  said.  "The  child 
would  die  for  a  smile." 

Flynn  struck  the  table  a  furious  blow  with  his  clenched 
fist  that  set  all  the  glasses  reeling  and  the  ware  rattling. 
He  swung  himself  round  in  his  seat  and  glared  balefully  at 
the  gentlemen.  "Silence!"  he  bawled,  and  the  sound  of 
his  voice  thundered  through  the  room  and  rolled  among 
the  rafters  with  all  the  fulness  and  fury  of  a  storm. 

The  attention  of  the  gamblers  was  naturally  attracted 
by  this  astonishing  diversion  and  the  eyes  of  the  four 
gentlemen  were  fixed  with  varying  steadiness  upon  the 
infuriated  O'Flynn,  whose  efforts  to  rise  from  his  table 
were  impeded  by  Master  Beggles,  who  had  flung  himself 
upon  him  at  the  first  symptom  of  indignation  and  who 
now  clung  to  him  with  all  the  passionate  energy  of  a  limpet. 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  rose  to  his  feet  and  advanced 
somewhat  totteringly  toward  the  O'Flynn,  eying  him  with 
derisive  insolence. 

My  Lord  Fawley  propped  against  his  table  hiccoughed 
out,  "What  is  the  matter  with  Harlequin  ?" 

The  O'Flynn  took  Master  Beggles  by  the  collar  between 
his  fingers  and  thumb,  plucked  him  from  his  person, 
placed  him  in  his  chair,  and  advanced  to  meet  Lord 
Sedgemouth.  Addressing  him  and  his  grinning  com- 
panions that  were  about  the  table,  he  called  out  savagely, 
"You  silly  committee  of  jackanapes,  you  must  not  toss 
a  lady's  name  abroad  in  a  tavern." 
193 


THE   O'FLYNN 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  chuckled  drunkenly.  He  had 
taken  more  wine  than  was  good  even  for  his  hardened  head, 
and  was  inclined  to  be  jocose.  "Are  you  Gog,  Magog,  or 
Punchinello?"  he  asked,  leering  at  the  O'Flynn.  Then 
he  plucked  off  his  feathered  hat  and  made  a  swish  with  it 
in  the  air  before  O'Flynn's  face  as  if  he  were  brushing 
away  some  objectionable  insect.  "Go  away,"  he  shrilled, 
"I  do  not  want  you." 

He  pivoted  on  his  red  heels  as  he  spoke  and  made  un- 
steadily for  his  companions. 

Flynn  followed  him  up,  raging.  "Air  a  civil  tongue 
when  you  speak  of  women,"  he  commanded,  but  my  lord 
paid  him  no  more  heed  than  if  he  had  not  spoken.  Sink- 
ing into  his  seat  with  a  languishing  air  he  took  up  a  glass 
and  held  it  toward  Fawley. 

"Give  me  some  wine  ?"  he  asked,  with  drunken  malice. 
"I  want  to  drink  to  the  kisses  of  Benedetta." 

The  O'Flynn's  action  was  instant  and  swift.  He 
snatched  up  the  full  glass  that  stood  before  Captain  Scully 
and  dashed  its  red  contents  straight  into  the  white  face  of 
my  Lord  Sedgemouth.  The  Burgundy  ran  over  his  pale 
cheeks  and  dribbled  hideously  on  to  the  lace  about  his 
neck  and  his  embroidered  waistcoat.  The  unexpected  in- 
sult quickened  Lord  Sedgemouth's  wits  to  a  sudden  ex- 
plosion of  rage.  He  scrambled  to  his  feet,  clawing  at  the 
hilt  of  his  sword,  but  Mayhew  and  Scully  caught  him  by 
the  arms  and  controlled  him.  Beggles  by  this  time  had 
flung  himself  forward,  and  hung  about  Flynn's  body  ham- 
pering him  sadly.  At  this  moment  Bandy  entered  the  hall 
followed  by  Hendrigg.  Each  was  carrying  a  large  china 
bowl  full  of  punch  in  his  hands.  Seeing  that  a  brawl  was 
toward,  the  two  men  set  their  burdens  down  upon  the  table 
194 


HOT  PUNCH  AND  COLD  STEEL 

near  the  fire  which  Flynn  had  been  occupying  and  stared 
in  amazement  at  the  unexpected  scene. 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth,  whiter  than  his  drinking,  wont 
with  passion,  strove  to  liberate  himself  from  the  claspings 
of  his  friends.  "Blast  you,"  he  screamed  at  O'Flynn,  "I 
will  slice  you  into  tripe,"  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  shook  off 
Scully  and  Mayhew  and  plucked  his  sword  forth  of  its  scab- 
bard. In  the  same  instant  O'Flynn's  blade  saw  the  light. 

Master  Bandy  in  an  anguish  flung  himself  between  the 
antagonists.  "Be  easy,  sir,"  he  entreated  the  O'Flynn. 
"Sure,  my  lord  is  mad  drunk,  and  you  are  sane  sober. 
What  kind  of  a  match  would  it  be  ?" 

The  O'Flynn  pushed  the  beseeching  landlord  away  from 
him  with  scarcely  an  effort.  He  looked  sternly  on  Lord 
Sedgemouth  who  stood  before  him,  vacillating  a  little  in 
carriage,  but  resolute  for  combat,  holding  his  sword  with 
the  manner  of  a  master  of  the  weapon,  as  indeed  my  lord 
was. 

A  wild  thought  danced  in  O'Flynn's  head  and  sent  him 
nigh  crazy  with  delight.  "We  can  set  that  right  easy 
enough,"  he  said,  exultantly:  "I  can  fight  drunk  as  well 
as  sober.  Give  me  the  punch."  As  he  spoke  he  lifted 
from  the  table  the  great  china  punch-bowl  that  Master 
Bandy  had  but  just  set  down,  and  raised  it  to  his  lips, 
"Your  health!"  he  said,  with  a  comprehensive  smile  at  the 
astonished  company.  Then  he  slowly  tilted  the  bowl  and 
sucked  steadily  at  the  subtle  and  aromatic  compound, 
drinking  and  tilting,  tilting  and  drinking,  till  the  inverted 
vessel  almost  hid  his  head  from  the  amazed  spectators. 
He  put  the  bowl  down  on  the  table  again  with  a  jolly  laugh. 
"Now  I  think  we  ought  to  be  pretty  equal,"  he  cried, 
triumphantly. 

195 


THE   O'FLYNN 

Master  Bandy  flung  up  his  hands.  "Glory!  At  a 
draught!"  he  ejaculated. 

Beggles,  fidgetting  with  uneasiness,  vainly  tried  to  at- 
tract Flynn's  attention.  "Sir,  sir,  consider  your  health!" 
he  entreated,  but  Flynn  in  a  voice  perhaps  a  trifle  thicker, 
and  his  gait  maybe  a  shade  less  steady,  pushed  Master 
Beggles  aside  and  addressed  himself  to  the  gentlemen  who 
were  by  main  force  restraining  my  Lord  Sedgemouth: 
"Let  your  friend  go!"  he  commanded,  and  as  he  spoke  he 
drew  his  sword.  "Now,  sir,  let's  see  the  color  of  your 
cutlery."  He  turned  aside  for  a  moment  to  address  Bandy, 
"Faith,  landlord,  that  was  a  noble  brew;  give  me  the  other 
bowl!" 

Sedgemouth,  being  now  released  by  his  friends,  reeled 
across  the  floor  and  faced  the  O'Flynn.  "Damn  you!" 
he  growled;  "you  are  drunk!" 

"And  damn  you,  you  are  drunk,"  Flynn  retorted,  "so 
there's  a  pair  of  us.  Perhaps  two  pairs.  I  think  I  like 
your  twin  brother  that's  standing  there  by  your  side  better 
than  yourself.  Now,  sir,  will  you  fight  or  shall  I  help  you 
to  some  more  Burgundy  ?" 

"I  shall  kill  you?"  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  said,  sav- 
agely. 

Flynn  wagged  his  head  wisely.  "I  doubt  it.  The  drink 
makes  you  too  confident:  you  don't  take  it  the  right  way. 
Now,  is  there  any  part  of  your  person  which  you  may  wish 
to  have  pinked  ?  I  promise  you,  for  all  I  have  drunk,  I 
will  skewer  you  where  you  please." 

Captain  Scully  now  pushed  between  the  two  antagonists, 
protesting  loudly:  "No  more  of  this,  Sedgemouth,"  he 
said;  "you  are  both  too  drunk." 

Sedgemouth  looked  at  his  friend  steadily;  his  anger  had 
196 


HOT   PUNCH    AND   COLD   STEEL 

sobered  him  a  little.  "I  never  pass  an  affront,"  he  said; 
"I  am  going  to  kill  this  yokel." 

O'Flynn  leaned  against  the  table  and  mocked  my  Lord 
Sedgemouth,  fleeringly.  "Come  on,  pretty  gentleman, 
come  on!"  he  chanted.  He  turned  to  Bandy:  "Is  that 
punch  ready  ?  Look  here,  landlord,  you  have  a  gob- 
let ready  on  that  table,  and  as  fast  as  I  empty  it, 
fill  it  up  again.  I  can  drink  and  fight  at  the  same 
time." 

By  this  time  Hendrigg  began  to  lose  patience:  he  had 
watched  the  squabble  so  far  with  something  like  indiffer- 
ence, believing  that  the  tipsy  altercation  would  have  no 
serious  conclusion  and  that  O'Flynn's  feat  with  the  punch- 
bowl would  render  him  powerless  to  do  harm.  He  now 
realized  that  Flynn,  in  spite  of  his  draught,  was  able  to 
hold  a  sword  and  also  able  to  use  it.  He  began  to  fear 
for  the  success  of  the  scheme  on  which  he  was  employed. 
Injury  to  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  at  this  juncture  meant  in- 
jury to  the  cause  that  Hendrigg  was  content  to  serve,  so 
forgetting  for  a  moment  the  important  point  he  played  in 
the  eyes  of  all  present  save  only  my  Lord  Sedgemouth,  he 
raised  his  voice  in  angry  protestations:  "Sirs,  sirs,"  he 
cried,  "this  must  not  be." 

Mayhew  turned  on  him  angrily.  "  What  the  devil  have 
you  to  say  to  a  brawl  between  gentlemen  ?" 

Hendrigg  continued  to  speak  hotly:  "I  protest  for  the 
credit  of  the  house,"  he  said,  and  made  as  if  to  ascend  the 
stairs  and  alarm  the  house,  but  my  Lord  Fawley  gripped 
him  by  the  collar  and  held  him  fast.  "Hold  your  tongue, 
you  fool!"  he  cried,  and  apparently  because  my  Lord  Faw- 
ley was  very  strong,  and  apparently  because  Hendrigg 
realized  the  danger  of  any  action  that  might  reveal  his 
197 


THE   O'FLYNN 

identity,  he  kept  still  while  the  two  antagonists  faced  each 
other  with  lifted  weapons. 

"Are  you  ready,  gentlemen?"  Mayhew  asked. 

"Ready,"  Sedgemouth  answered. 

"And  willing!"  Flynn  responded,  cheerily. 

In  the  fight  that  followed  Sir  George  Mayhew  and 
Captain  Scully  played  the  parts  of  temporary  seconds; 
Sir  George  acting  for  the  Irishman  and  Captain  Scully  for 
Lord  Sedgemouth.  The  moment  that  the  swords  met  it 
was  plain  to  both  the  seconds  that  O'Flynn  in  spite  of  the 
liquor  he  had  taken  was  more  than  a  match  for  my  Lord 
Sedgemouth  in  his  then  condition,  and  would  prove  more 
than  a  match  for  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  if  my  Lord  Sedge- 
mouth  were  stark  sober. 

Duels  had  been  fought  before  in  that  wonderful  inn  that 
had  once  been  so  wonderful  a  mansion,  but  never  a  duel 
so  magnificent  as  that  in  all  the  days  of  its  history.  For 
the  O'Flynn  kept  off  the  angry  attack  of  Lord  Sedgemouth 
with  perfect  ease,  his  sword  meeting  and  parrying  swift 
lunges  as  his  enemy  played  with  marvellous  rapidity,  and 
while  he  thus  baffled  his  antagonist  he  ever  and  anon 
reached  out  his  left  hand  for  the  glass  that  Master  Bandy 
filled  from  the  dwindling  punch-bowl  and  drained  it  de- 
risively to  Lord  Sedgemouth's  health.  "The  loving-cup!" 
he  had  cried  out  as  he  emptied  the  first  glass,  and 
now  a  few  minutes  later  Master  Bandy  ladled  the  last 
drop  of  punch  into  the  goblet  that  he  handed  to  the 
O'Flynn. 

"Is  the  punch  all  gone  ?"  Flynn  asked. 

"Every  drop!"  Master  Bandy  answered. 

"Then,"  O'Flynn  responded,  "we'll  make  an  end  of  the 
business."  He  parried  a  vicious  stab  from  Lord  Sedge- 
198 


HOT   PUNCH   AND   COLD   STEEL 

mouth,  feinted,  reposted,  and  ran  my  Lord  Sedgemouth 
through  the  body. 

Lord  Sedgemouth  dropped  his  sword  and  clapped  his 
hand  to  his  side  with  a  silly  laugh.  "Blast  me!  I'm 
drunk!"  he  cried,  and  then  plucking  his  fingers  from  his 
side  held  them  to  his  face  and  seemed  to  wonder  to  find 
them  bloody.  Then  he  gave  an  ugly  groan  and  fell 
heavily  on  his  face.  Beggles  gave  a  shrill  scream  as  Scully 
and  Mayhew  hastened  to  the  side  of  their  fallen  friend. 

Hendrigg  instantly  seized  the  opportunity  to  tear,  at 
full  speed,  up  the  stairs  crying  out:  "Help!  Help!  My 
Lord  Sedgemouth  is  slain!" 

"You've  killed  him!"  Beggles  gasped. 

Flynn  shook  his  head.  "Be  easy!  I've  only  pricked 
him  a  little." 

"Is  he  much  hurt?"  Mayhew  asked. 

Scully  looked  up  from  the  wounded  man.  "Not  badly," 
he  answered.  "Give  me  a  hand  to  carry  him  to  a  bed." 
14 


XX 

O'FLYNN'S  OWN 

BY  this  time  the  Isle  of  Cyprus  was  all  in  confusion: 
uproar  reigned  above,  below,  everywhere.  The  door 
of  the  room  on  the  gallery  where  His  Grace  of  Tyrconnel 
was  feasting  flung  open,  and  the  mingled  crowd  of  ladies 
and  courtiers  richly  attired,  and  of  players  in  their  hur- 
riedly assumed  costumes,  came  pouring  out  to  learn  the 
meaning  of  the  hubbub. 

While  Mayhew,  Scully,  and  Fawley  carried  their 
wounded  friend  into  an  adjoining  room  to  have  his  hurt 
attended  to,  O'Flynn,  seizing  the  great  punch-bowl  he  had 
emptied,  filled  it  with  water  from  a  ewer  on  the  sideboard 
and  thrust  his  glowing  face  into  the  cool  liquid,  whence 
he  emerged  a  moment  afterward  and  dried  his  dripping 
countenance  on  a  towel  hastily  provided  for  him  by  Master 
Beggles,  ever  solicitous  for  his  well-being.  Flynn's  eleva- 
tion of  spirit  was  sufficiently  tempered  to  enable  him  to 
realize  clearly  what  was  going  on  about  him;  he  saw  the 
thronged  galleries  and  the  crowded  staircase  filled  with 
eager  faces;  he  saw  the  inn  door  leading  to  the  street 
open  and  passers-by  come  into  the  hall  attracted  by  the 
noises  within;  he  recognized,  with  a  confused  sense  of 
merriment,  the  faces  of  his  friends,  composed  of  the  River- 
side Fellowship  of  Players,  staring  at  him;  and  then  he 
200 


O'FLYNN'S   OWN 

beheld  with  a  sudden  rapture  the  lady  for  whom  he  had 
fought  his  drunken  fight — Benedetta  herself  pushing  her 
way  through  the  throng  on  the  gallery  and  stairs  in  a 
fierce  anxiety  to  reach  the  hall.  This  anxiety  O'Flynn 
was,  for  a  moment,  rash  enough  to  believe  was  worn  for 
his  sake,  but  he  was  soon  undeceived. 

Benedetta  spoke  to  Bandy  feverishly.  "What  has  come 
to  my  lord  ?"  she  asked. 

Bandy  looked  grave.     "My  lord  is  ill,"  he  replied. 

"Ill  ?"  Benedetta  cried,  and  put  her  hand  to  her  heart. 
"What  has  happened?" 

At  this  moment  the  O'Flynn,  casting  aside  his  drenched 
towel,  believed  the  moment  had  come  for  him  to  clear  up 
the  lady's  doubts.  He  advanced  and  began  with  a  melan- 
choly smile:  "Forgive  me,  gracious  lady,  if  I  attempt  to 
explain  the  unpleasing  concatenation  of  events.  My  Lord 
Sedgemouth,  having  had  the  misfortune  to  fall  against  a 
sharp  point,  has  been  obliged  to  take  to  his  bed.  Nothing 
to  be  alarmed  about,  absolutely  nothing.  A  little  letting 
of  blood  will  do  him  a  world  of  good — ease  his  spleen,  cool 
his  liver." 

Benedetta,  who  had  listened  with  amazement  to  Flynn's 
speech,  wrung  her  hands.  "God's  love,  what  has  hap- 
pened ?"  she  mdaned. 

At  that  moment  Sir  George  Mayhew  returned  from  the 
adjoining  room  and,  hearing  her  question,  answered,  "In 
a  word,  madam,  Lord  Sedgemouth  and  this  gentleman  had 
a  passage  of  arms,  wherein  my  lord  was  worsted." 

Flynn  strove  to  waive  him  on  one  side.     "  Prithee,  peace, 
meddler,"  he  cried,  pompously,  "you  spoil  all  with  your 
parleying."     He   turned   to   Benedetta    again,  "It  came 
about  thus,  exquisite  creature — 
2O I 


THE   O'FLYNN 

Benedetta  looked  at  him  with  blazing  eyes.  "You  have 
fought  with  Lord  Sedgemouth  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  voice  that 
trembled  with  rage,  but  Flynn  did  not  interpret  its  tones 
rightly. 

"I  have  done  that  same,  lady,"  he  returned,  cheerily, 
"fought  him  with  his  own  weapons — hot  punch  first  and 
cold  steel  afterward." 

Benedetta  flamed  at  him.  "Are  you  a  fool  or  a  devil  or 
what  to  do  this  thing  ?"  she  screamed,  and  Flynn  staggered 
as  if  she  had  struck  him. 

"I  do  not  understand,"  he  faltered;  "he  spoke  lightly 
of  you — of  the  loveliest  woman  in  this  world — and  I 
taught  him  his  manners." 

Benedetta  raved  at  him  with  clenched  fists.  "You 
beast,  you —  Oh !  I  have  no  word  for  you !  He  is  my  dear 
lover,  he  may  speak  of  me  as  he  pleases;  it  is  not  for  you 
to  school  him!" 

She  turned  from  the  abashed  and  bewildered  Flynn  and 
questioned  the  landlord:  "Where  is  he  ?" 

"Madam,"  Bandy  answered,  deferentially,  "his  friends 
are  with  him.  Captain  Scully  is  a  surgeon.  No  one,  for 
his  life's  sake,  may  intrude." 

"For  his  life's  sake!"  Benedetta  echoed,  in  a  breaking 
voice;  then  she  turned  again  and  faced  Flynn,  furiously: 
"He  is  in  danger,  and  you  stand  grinning  there!  What 
shall  I  do  ?"  She  glanced  wildly  about  her  and  saw  that 
Bandy  was  holding  in  his  hand  a  naked  sword,  the  sword 
that  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  had  let  fall  so  short  awhile  be- 
fore. She  sprang  at  the  startled  landlord  and  snatched  the 
weapon  from  his  grasp  and  confronted  Flynn,  Amazon- 
like,  with  the  blade  held  as  if  the  use  of  the  sword  were 
familiar  to  her,  while  she  shrieked  at  him,  "I  can  handle 
202 


O'FLYNN'S   OWN 

a  sword,  too — will  you  fight  me,  too,  you  savage,  and  kill 
me,  and  make  an  end  of  both  of  us  that  were  young  and 
comely,  and  loved  each  other  well  ?" 

There  were  tears  of  shame  and  despair  in  Flynn's  eyes. 
"Lady,  for  God's  sake — "  he  pleaded. 

But  Benedetta  cut  him  short.  "God  on  your  mouth, 
and  the  devil  in  your  heart,"  she  cried.  She  would  have 
said  more,  but  her  tirade  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  Captain  Scully,  to  whom  she  turned  at  once.  "Your 
news,  sir  ?"  she  asked,  eagerly. 

"Lord  Sedgemouth,"  Scully  replied,  "is  suffering  from 
a  fairly  deep  flesh-wound  between  the  first  and  second 
ribs;  there  is  much  loss  of  blood,  but  no  serious  danger. 
He  may  perhaps  need  to  keep  his  bed  for  a  week,  no  more." 

Flynn  turned  to  her  apologetically:  "Didn't  I  tell  you 
so  ?  Sure,  I  know  how  to  knock  a  man  out  without  hurting 
him,  as  easy  as  A,  B,  C." 

Benedetta  paid  him  no  heed.  "May  I  go  to  my  lord  ?" 
she  asked  of  Captain  Scully. 

"If  you  will  not  excite  him,"  Scully  answered. 

"I  will  be  very  quiet,"  Benedetta  promised.  She  made 
to  enter  the  room  from  which  Scully  had  just  come,  but 
Flynn  made  a  quick  movement  and  stood  before  her. 
"Now,"  he  pleaded  pathetically,  "how  was  I  to  know 
that  he  was  your  lover  ?" 

Benedetta  looked  at  him  with  the  steady  eyes  of  hate. 
"Let  me  pass,  please,"  she  said,  coldly,  and  before  her 
withering  glance  Flynn  could  do  nothing.  He  fell  back 
and  Benedetta  passed  him  and  entered  the  room  where 
her  lover  lay. 

For  a  moment,  silence  reigned  over  the  amazed  assem- 
blage: then  the  silence  was  disturbed  by  a  new  inter- 
203 


THE   O'FLYNN 

ruption.  A  big,  elderly,  red-faced  man,  very  gorgeously 
dressed  and  seemingly  very  drunk,  broke  noisily  out  of 
the  room  in  the  gallery  and  pushing  his  way  furiously 
through  the  throng  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  began  to 
stagger  rapidly  down  the  great  stairway.  Flynn  learned 
from  the  murmurs  about  him  what  he  would  readily  have 
guessed,  that  the  new-comer  was  the  viceroy  himself,  the 
Duke  of  Tyrconnel. 

"Blast  me!"  Tyrconnel  shouted  savagely,  "what  is  all 
this  noise  about?  Sink  me!  Can't  a  gentleman  drink 
his  wine  in  peace  ?"  He  came  to  a  halt  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  and  clung  heavily  to  the  pedestal  for  support,  glaring 
around  him  with  angry  eyes  like  a  boar  at  bay. 

Hendrigg,  that  had  followed  his  drunken  progress,  stood 
by  his  side.  "Your  Grace!  Your  Grace!"  he  declared; 
"he  has  killed  my  Lord  Sedgemouth." 

Flynn  advanced  to  meet  the  viceroy  with  a  stately  bow : 
"I  assure  your  Grace,"  he  said,  "I  have  done  nothing  of 
the  kind.  I  found  an  unknown  person  here,  on  whom  I 
will  not  waste  the  name  of  gentleman,  using  lightly  the 
name  of  a  lady  I  respect  and  revere  beyond  all  women 
living — and  I  wished  to  teach  him  a  lesson  in  manners." 

"Blast  me,"  the  duke  roared,  mollified  by  Flynn's  gal- 
lantry, courage  and  frank  speech,  "if  I  blame  you  for  it!" 

"I  took  him  up  short  on  the  word,"  Flynn  continued, 
"just  as  you  would  have  done,  if  you  had  been  there  and 
the  man  I  take  you  for.  Then  we  out  with  our  bilboas, 
and  I  gave  him  a  dig  in  the  ribs  that  will  make  him  keep 
his  bed  a  sennight — no  more  harm  done." 

The  Duke  of  Tyrconnel  turned  to  Captain  Scully,  who 
was    standing    hard    by.     "Captain    Scully,"    he    asked, 
"was  all  this  business  conducted  according  to  honor  ?" 
204 


O'FLYNN'S   OWN 

"Quite,  my  lord,"  Scully  answered  candidly. 

The  answer  seemed  to  content  his  grace  so  far  as  the 
conduct  of  the  duel  was  concerned,  and  he  turned  now  to 
the  O'Flynn  with  a  fresh  note  of  quarrel  in  his  voice.  "Do 
you  know,  sir,"  he  shouted,  "that  you  have  done  a  damned 
awkward  thing  ?  My  Lord  Sedgemouth  had  promised  to 
give  his  Majesty  Knockmore  Castle,  now  in  the  hands 
of  the  Dutch,  as  a  midsummer  present,  and  your  silly 
meddling  will  make  him  break  faith." 

Flynn  laughed  cheerily.  "Is  that  all?"  he  asked. 
"With  his  Majesty's  gracious  permission  and  the  loan 
of  a  regiment  or  so,  I  will  take  Knockmore  for  his  Majesty 
whenever  his  Majesty  pleases." 

My  lord  duke  glared  at  him.  "Who  the  devil  are 
you  ?"  he  asked,  "that  you  talk  so  free  ?" 

Flynn  gave  him  his  favorite  formula,  "I  am  the 
O'Flynn  of  Castle  Famine — of  Castle  O'Flynn,  I  should 
say — Chevalier  of  the  Order  of  the  Rose  of  Lithuania, 
Knight  Commander  of  Poland,  and  Ambassador  Extra- 
ordinary from  His  Majesty  King  Conachor  LIL,  whom 
Heaven  preserve!" 

My  lord  duke  gasped  at  this  fluent  enumeration  of 
strange  titles.  "I  do  not  think,  sir,"  he  answered,  "that 
his  Majesty  has  regiments  to  spare  for  unknown  ad- 
venturers." 

Flynn's  head  and  heart  were  all  in  a  whirl;  the  increas- 
ing excitement  of  his  drink,  his  duel  and  his  denunciation 
by  Lady  Benedetta  had  whipped  his  blood  to  madness, 
and  he  was  now  ready  for  any  and  every  rashness  or 
insanity.  Tyrconnel's  refusal  of  his  offer  chaffed  him  with 
an  appealing  insanity.  "Then  if  the  king  won't  lend  me  a 
regiment,"  he  cried  defiantly,  "I'll  raise  one  for  myself." 
205 


THE   O'FLYNN 

His  grace,  that  was  a  good  judge  of  a  pretty  man,  eyed 
him  with  something  like  admiration.  "Strike  me  fright- 
ful!" he  swore,  "but  you  are  a  bold  bully." 

"And  I'll  begin  enlisting  at  once,"  Flynn  declared; 
"only  I'll  do  better  than  the  king,  or  the  king's  shilling, 
I  offer  O'Flynn's  guinea!"  As  he  spoke  he  sprang  onto 
a  chair  and  from  thence  to  the  table,  and  looked  around 
him  upon  his  strange  audience. 

The  hall  of  the  inn  was  now  crowded  by  strangers 
from  without — strangers  representing  all  classes  of  the 
social  life  of  Dublin:  gentle  folk,  burgesses,  beggars,  red- 
coated  soldiers,  white-robed,  black-robed,  and  brown- 
robed  priests,  honest  tradesmen,  and  nimble  thieves. 
Above  the  motley  assemblage  were  ranged  the  crowd  on 
the  stairs  that  included  the  quaintly  garbed  players  and 
the  fine  folk  of  the  gallery,  beautiful  women  and  gallant 
gentlemen. 

Flynn  surveyed  his  hearers  as  Mark  Anthony  might 
have  surveyed  the  crowd  in  the  Roman  forum,  and  began 
his  harangue:  "Is  there  a  man  here  that  would  not  wish 
to  be  a  soldier  and  serve  King  James  ?  If  such  an  one 
there  be,  to  him  I  address  myself,  that  he  may  repent  of 
his  past,  rejoice  in  his  future,  and  enlist  in  this  present. 
For  I  promise  you  from  long  knowledge  that  the  finest 
and  the  wisest  thing  in  the  world  is  to  follow  the  drum. 
Look  upon  me  that  preach  to  you!  Here  am  I,  a  simple 
soldier  of  fortune,  no  better  nor  no  cleverer  than  my 
hearers.  I  have  fought  under  every  flag  in  Europe,  and 
behold  me  with  the  silk  upon  my  limbs  and  laces  at  my 
wrists  and  pockets  brimmed  with  guineas.  None  of 
these  could  I  have  owned  if  I  had  not  been  a  soldier,  and 
all  these  comforts  ye  shall  know  if  you  will  but  serve. 
206 


O'FLYNN'S   OWN 

Remember  the  ladies,  too,  how  dearly  they  love  a  soldier- 
man,  how  their  eyes  dazzle  at  the  glow  of  a  soldier's  coat. 
Who  loves  full  purses,  let  him  follow  me:  who  loves  fair 
women,  let  him  follow  me:  who  loves  fine  garments,  let 
him  follow  me!  Come,  who  will  take  a  guinea  from  my 
fingers  and  fill  the  lists  of  O'Flynn's  Own  ?" 

He  stooped  and  snatched  a  purse  from  Master  Beggles' 
hand  and  drew  from  it  a  shining  guinea  piece  and  held  it 
up  for  the  admiration  of  the  spectators. 

My  lord  duke  banged  his  hand  against  his  thigh.  "  Blast 
me  flat!"  he  swore,  "but  I  would  if  I  were  a  younger  man 
and  not  already  engaged  in  his  Majesty's  service." 

Coin  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd  to  the  table. 
"Tip  me  the  guinea,"  he  cried.  "I  am  with  you!" 

He  was  closely  followed  by  Gosling.  "And  I!"  Gosling 
shouted. 

Flynn  tossed  each  of  the  bailiffs  a  guinea,  and  the 
guineas  were  skilfully  caught.  "Come,  there's  a  bold 
beginning!"  he  cried.  "Two  heroes  that  will  be  shaking 
hands  with  themselves  in  a  fortnight  for  taking  this  chance. 
It's  wise  men  all  are  that  use  the  wars,  for  their  lives  move 
blithely  to  a  marching  measure  and  last  longer  than 
civilians',  too,  which  is  a  gain  worth  weighing.  Sure  no 
man  can  live  forever,  but  I  have  known  more  old  soldiers 
than  old  stay-at-homes.  A  man  may  fall  in  battle,  very 
true!  But  also  he  may  slip  in  the  street  on  a  bit  of  apple- 
skin  and  break  his  inglorious  neck!  Look  at  me  that 
have  fought  in  fifty  actions,  and  am  ready  for  fifty 
more!" 

He  addressed  himself  to  Master  Burden  whose  white 
face  he  saw  on  the  staircase:    "Come,  Master  Burden, 
will  not  some  of  your  fellowship  join  me  ?" 
207 


THE   O'FLYNN 

Master  Burden  shook  his  black  mane.  "Nay,"  he 
protested,  "we  are  players — not  soldiers." 

"A  sad  answer!"  Flynn  cried;  "a  bad  answer.  Let  me 
tell  you,  Master  Burden,  that  when  King  James's  father, 
King  Charles  of  blessed  memory,  was  fighting  for  his 
crown,  many  of  your  trade  made  his  best  soldiers.  Hart, 
that  was  the  handsomest  lover  on  the  stage,  was  Lieutenant 
of  Rupert's  Horse;  Butt  and  Shatterley,  noted  players 
both,  served  in  the  same  troop;  Mohun,  that  was  fa- 
mous for  stage  tyrants,  won  nobler  fame  as  a  captain  of 
dragoons,  and  Allen  of  the  Cockpit  Theatre,  as  funny  a 
man  as  ever  set  an  audience  rocking,  was  a  major  at 
Oxford.  What  they  did,  you  can  do,  with  a  laced  coat  on 
your  shoulders,  and  a  feathered  hat  on  your  heads.  Come 
and  play  great  parts  on  the  world's  stage!" 

If  Flynn's  appeal  had  no  effect  upon  Master  Burden, 
it  touched  the  hearts  of  some  of  his  followers.  Master 
Conamur  cried  from  the  staircase,  "I  am  tired  of  play- 
acting— '  He  turned  to  argue  with  Burden  that  sought 
to  restrain  him;  "I  don't  get  good  parts  enough,"  he  cried. 
He  pushed  his  manager  on  one  side  and  stretched  out  his 
hand  through  the  balustrade  toward  Flynn.  "I  will  be 
with  you,  sir,  if  you  make  me  an  officer." 

"You  shall  be  my  lieutenant,"  Flynn  promised,  and 
added  with  a  laugh,  "I  think  we'll  all  be  officers  in 
O'Flynn's  Own!" 

The  example  of  Master  Conamur  proved  infectious. 
Tulpin,  his  habitual  gloom  dissipated  by  a  sudden  wave 
of  martial  ardor,  came  hurrying  down  the  stairs,  crying, 
"I  am  with  you!" 

He  was  followed  by  Winshaw,  calling,  "And  I!" 

By  this  time  the  military  enthusiasm,  warmed  by  the 
208 


O'FLYNN'S   OWN 

sight  of  Flynn's  guineas,  was  spreading  in  the  crowd  and 
hand  after  hand  was  reached  out  to  catch  the  coins  that 
Flynn  was  tossing  in  all  directions  with  generous  pro- 
fusion. Almost  delirious  with  excitement,  O'Flynn  began 
to  sing  the  famous  Stuart  song: 

"Here's  a  health  to  his  Majesty, 
With  a  fal,  lal,  la,  la,  la,  la: 
Confusion  to  his  enemies, 
With  a  fal,  lal,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la: 
And  he  who  will  not  drink  this  health, 
I  wish  him  neither  wit  nor  wealth, 
But  just  a  rope  to  hang  himself, 
With  a  fal,  lal,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la!" 

The  exultants  caught  up  and  repeated  the  stirring  words 
and  the  stirring  tune. 

"Three  cheers  for  Captain  O'Flynn!"  Coin  shouted, 
and  Gosling  led  the  enthusiastic  cheers  that  followed  to 
the  call. 

O'Flynn  was  lifted  in  triumph  on  to  the  shoulders  of 
two  of  his  recruits,  and  thus,  under  whimsical  conditions, 
O'Flynn's  Own  came  into  being. 


XXI 

RING  A   RING  OF   ROSES 

IT  was  not  to  be  expected  that  the  whimsicality  of  the 
siege  of  Knockmore  would  be  suffered  to  diminish 
with  the  appearance  of  the  O'Flynn  and  O'Flynn's  Own 
on  that  scene  of  serio-comic  conflict.  Flynn  was  ever  the 
man  for  heightening  the  humor  of  any  humorous  situation, 
and  in  the  position  of  affairs  before  Knockmore  he  found 
abundant  opportunity  for  amusing  himself  and  others. 

His  progress  in  Irish  arms  had  been  brilliant  and  swift. 
He  had  raised  a  regiment  of  stout  rascals,  a  hundred  strong, 
with  his  friends  of  the  Fellowship  of  Players  as  his  sub- 
ordinate officers.  He  had  clad  his  gang  of  rascallions  in 
gaudy  uniforms  of  the  royal  scarlet  plentifully  enriched  with 
gold  lace — all  this  to  the  great  agony  of  paymaster  Beggles. 
He  supplied  them  with  the  best  muskets  money  could  buy 
— another  throe  in  Beggles'  lacerated  bosom,  and  through 
the  interest  of  Tyrconnel,  who  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to 
him,  he  was  given  the  king's  permission  to  swell  the 
strength  of  the  force  encamped  before  Knockmore.  The 
O'Flynn  was  not,  however,  to  his  great  disappointment, 
accorded  the  desired  position  of  commander  of  that  force. 
That  post  had  already  been  given  to  Lord  Sedgemouth, 
and  Lord  Sedgemouth  was  not  going  to  relinquish  it,  in 
spite  of  his  wound. 


RING   A   RING   OF   ROSES 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  wound  was  a  very  trifling  matter, 
and  it  was  more  my  lord's  intoxication  than  my  lord's 
injury  that  brought  about  his  collapse  in  the  Isle  of  Cyprus. 
On  the  very  next  morning,  with  a  clear  head  and  a  body 
properly  plastered  and  bandaged,  my  lord  insisted  upon 
being  conveyed  on  a  litter  to  the  camp  before  Knockmore, 
where  he  took  over  the  command  to  the  infinite  relief  and 
gratitude  of  his  predecessor. 

Thus  when  O'Flynn  arrived  at  the  seat  of  war  at  the 
head  of  his  redcoats,  he  found  himself  condemned  to  a 
season  of  inactivity,  which  he  resented,  and  which  he  did 
his  best  to  enliven.  He  quartered  his  men  apart,  devoted 
himself  heart  and  soul  to  their  drill,  and  before  forty-eight 
hours  had  passed  he  had  knocked  them  into  sufficient 
shape  to  present  at  least  the  appearance  of  men  at  arms. 
But  thereafter  he  yearned  for  new  interests,  and  being  a 
creature  that  liked  to  gratify  his  desires,  he  cast  about  him 
for  means  of  entertainment.  Most  of  all  things  imagin- 
able and  unimaginable,  he  yearned  to  look  again  upon  the 
Lady  Benedetta  Mountmichael,  and  to  effect  this  purpose 
he  conceived  and  carried  out  a  plan  so  daringly  impudent 
that  only  the  O'Flynn  would,  under  the  conditions,  have 
dreamed  of  attempting  it. 

What  that  plan  was  will  be  seen  in  due  course.  It  was 
part  and  parcel  of  the  plan  that  the  O'Flynn  should  on  a 
certain  afternoon  some  five  days  after  his  arrival  at 
Knockmore,  convert  his  encampment,  as  far  as  possible, 
into  a  bower  of  roses.  If  Luitprand  van  Dronk,  up  in  his 
eyrie,  could  have  taken  the  trouble  to  eye  through  his 
spy-glass  that  portion  of  the  encampment  of  the  beleaguer- 
ing force  over  which  a  green  flag  flew,  he  would  have 
observed,  to  his  surprise,  that  the  garden  of  Flora  seemed 
211 


THE   O'FLYNN 

suddenly  to  flourish  on  the  field  of  Mars.  Wreaths  of 
deep-colored  roses  were  wound  in  festoons  around  those 
seeming  grim,  if  real  innocent  engines  of  war,  the  cannons, 
ranked  against  the  castle:  long  ropes  of  roses  crept  from 
tent  to  tent  and  shed  their  sweetness  upon  the  friendly 
summer  air.  Seldom  had  any  camp  of  warriors  shown 
so  gay  and  gracious  a  seeming  as  the  O'Flynn  quarters 
before  Knockmore  on  that  blithe  and  kindly  June  day. 

Festoons  of  roses  floated  from  a  tent  that  stood  hard 
by  on  a  rising  bit  of  ground,  a  tent  that  carried  a  placard 
over  its  opening.  This  placard  bore  the  words  "Master 
Burden's  Riverside  Fellowship  of  Stage  Players."  As, 
however,  for  the  moment,  the  Riverside  Fellowship  of 
Stage  Players  had  ceased  to  exist,  thanks  to  the  O'Flynn's 
sudden  enthusiasm  for  the  cause  of  King  James,  the 
tent  was  only  occupied  by  the  two  ladies  of  the  company, 
Mistress  Oldmixon  and  Mistress  Fancy  Free.  The 
placard  and  the  companionship  of  Mistress  Oldmixon 
gave  Mistress  Free  a  plausible  excuse  for  her  presence  in 
the  camp,  if  she  had  needed  one. 

In  the  midst  of  their  elaborate  entanglement  of  roses 
O'Flynn's  heroes  took  their  ease.  Some  played  cards; 
others  dice;  all  smoked  and  drank  cheerfully,  blessing 
the  munificence  of  the  O'Flynn,  who,  leaning  against  a 
rose-garlanded  cannon,  studied  the  fortifications  of  Knock- 
more  through  a  spy-glass.  But  there  was  one  of  that 
company  that  in  no  wise  blessed  the  munificence  of  the 
O'Flynn,  and  this  was  Master  Beggles,  that  sat  apart  from 
the  hilarity  of  the  others  upon  an  unused  mortar,  and 
scowled  upon  a  note-book. 

Presently  Master  Beggles  put  his  note-book  into  his 
pocket  with  a  wry  expression  and  advancing  to  where  the 
212 


RING   A   RING   OF   ROSES 

O'Flynn  stood  contemplatively,  plucked  him  gingerly  by 
the  sleeve.  "Good  sir,"  he  said,  "a  word  in  your  ear." 

The  O'Flynn  took  his  spy-glass  from  his  eye,  placed  it 
under  his  arm  and  turned  to  his  dependent  with  a  gesture 
of  acquiescence.  "Both  organs  are  at  your  service,"  he 
said,  politely. 

Master  Beggles  rapped  his  breast  pocket  where  the 
note-book  lay.  "Touching  my  accounts,"  he  murmured 
deferentially. 

Flynn  made  a  disapproving  gesture.  "The  devil,  the 
devil,"  he  said.  "I  trust  entirely  to  you;  I  never  had  a 
head  for  figures." 

Master  Beggles'  finger  jumped  to  his  breast  pocket 
and  the  note-book  came  into  evidence  again.  "I  find," 
he  said,  "that  from  first  to  last,  since  I  had  the  honor  to 
enter  your  honor's  service,  which  is,  as  who  should  say, 
no  less  and  no  better  than  a  week,  I  have  expended — : 

The  O'Flynn  interrupted  him  with  a  magnificent 
gesture.  "Pardon  me — I  have  expended." 

Master  Beggles  coughed  apologetically  and  continued, 
"You  have  expended  no  l«ss  a  sum  than  five  hundred 
guineas." 

Flynn  eyed  him  with  an  affected  sternness.  "Well, 
what  of  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"What  of  it?"  Master  Beggles  repeated  in  a  shocked 
voice;  "what  of  five  hundred  guineas  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Flynn,  "what  of  it  ?  What  is  five  hundred 
guineas  to  me  with  my  millions  ?  Gold  is  dross,  Master 
Beggles.  It's  what  gold  can  do,  that  is  the  true  ingot." 

Master  Beggles  did  not  look  convinced.  "No  doubt, 
but — "  he  began. 

Flynn  would  not  let  him  continue.  "Haven't  I  raised 
213 


THE   O'FLYNN 

a  troop  for  King  James,  with  the  finest  uniforms  in  his 
service  ?  Sure,  I've  served  under  kings  galore  and  never 
known  a  finer  pack  of  rascals  than  O'Flynn's  Own. 
They'd  be  a  credit  to  an  emperor." 

Master  Beggles  sighed  heavily.  "But  they're  a  debit 
to  me,"  he  groaned. 

Flynn  reproved  him.  "Hush,  usurer,  hush!  At  the 
rate  of  interest  agreed  upon,  I  owe  you  six  hundred 
guineas.  Put  it  down,  Master  Beggles,  put  it  down." 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  Master  Beggles  concurred, 
putting  away  his  precious  note-book.  "But  don't  you 
think  we  might  economize  a  little  ?" 

The  O'Flynn  reeled  as  if  he  had  been  struck  by  a 
bullet.  "Economize!  There's  a  dirty  verb  to  use  to  a 
gentleman.  Will  you  be  telling  me  why  I  should  econo- 
mize ?  Fie  the  foul  word.  It  was  never  the  way  with  the 
O'Flynns." 

Beggles  gave  a  cry  of  despair.  "Then  whatever  pos- 
sessed you,"  he  cried,  "to  go  giving  this  grand  entertain- 
ment for  all  the  world  as  if  you  were  a  Roman  emperor  ?" 

Flynn  addressed  him  confidentially.  "Let  me  tell  you, 
my  boy,  that  an  O'Flynn  of  O'Flynn  considers  himself 
a  cut  above  any  Roman  emperor  that  ever  walked  in 
sandals." 

Beggles  began  to  enumerate  items  of  extravagance, 
ticking  them  off  on  his  fingers.  "Fiddlers  from  Dublin. 
Fine  wines  from  the  Isle  of  Cyprus.  Made  dishes  and 
pastry  and  all  such  kickshaws,  with  tents  set  out  for 
lodgings  as  if  they  were  apartments  in  a  palace." 

The  O'Flynn  checked  him.  "My  friend,"  he  said, 
"when  the  O'Flynn  gives  a  party  he  knows  no  half 
measures." 

214 


RING   A   RING   OF   ROSES 

Beggles  groaned  again.  "Suppose  they  don't  come," 
he  suggested  lugubriously. 

But  Flynn  declined  to  be  depressed.  "Suppose  nothing 
of  the  kind,"  he  said.  "It's  glad  enough  of  a  change  they'll 
be  from  dear  old  dirty  Dublin." 

Master  Beggles  stood  still;  he  seemed  to  have  a  point  to 
make.  "But,  excuse  me."  he  said,  "is  it  necessary  or 
sensible  to  adorn  our  artillery  with  garlands  of  roses  ?" 

The  O'Flynn  looked  properly  indignant.  "Neces- 
sary ?"  he  cried.  "  Essential !  Do  you  know  whom  I 
serve?" 

Master  Beggles  began  faithfully  to  enumerate,  "His 
Majesty  James  II.,  King  of  England,  France  and  Ireland, 
Defender  of  the  Faith — " 

Flynn  interrupted  him.  "Thank  you.  Nominally  I 
serve  King  James.  Actually  I  am  the  soldier  of  the 
loveliest  lady  God  ever  made." 

Master  Beggles  lifted  up  his  hands  in  despair  to  the 
skies,  a  gesture  familiar  with  him  whenever  his  new 
master  spoke  of  lovely  ladies.  "Lord,  Lord!"  he  groaned. 

But  Flynn  paid  him  no  heed  and  continued,  "And  that 
it's  ten  chances  to  one  that  the  said  loveliest  lady  will  grace 
the  camp  with  her  presence  this  blessed  and  holy  day." 

Master  Beggles  continued  his  lamentations.  "I  could 
have  got  paper  roses  from  Dublin  for  a  fiftieth  of  the 
money,"  he  wailed. 

Flynn  turned  upon  him  fiercely:  "Paper  roses,  is  it,  you 
skinflint  ?  If  I  could  get  roses  from  the  Elysian  Fields, 
they  wouldn't  be  good  enough  for  my  lady's  presence." 

Master  Beggles  endeavored  to  continue  his  protest. 
"Yes,  but  after  all — ! 

Flynn  cut  him  short  peremptorily.     "Say  no  more, 
15  215 


THE   O'FLYNN 

Master  Beggles,  say  no  more.  If  you  are  tired  of  being 
my  paymaster,  I'll  find  others  more  complacent  at  a  lesser 
rate.  Why,  tell  me  now,  didn't  I  force  twenty  per  cent, 
upon  you,  just  because  I  took  a  fancy  to  the  thing  you 
call  a  face  ?" 

Master  Beggles  was  apologetic.  "  No  offence,  O'Flynn," 
he  declared,  "no  offence." 

O'Flynn  looked  at  him  disapprovingly.  "It's  the  un- 
grateful devil  you  are,  Beggles,  and  I  making  your  fortune. 
If  I  wasn't  so  fond  of  you,  I'd  give  you  back  your  dirty 
money — " 

At  this  suggestion  Master  Beggles,  whose  confidence 
in  the  future  wealth  of  the  O'Flynn  was  unabated,  broke 
in  imploringly.  "Don't  say  that,  O'Flynn,  for  the  love 
of  Heaven,  don't  say  that!" 

O'Flynn  met  his  request  cheerfully.  "I  won't,"  he 
promised.  "Now  don't  be  distressing  me  any  more  with 
your  finances.  I  know  what's  good  for  you,  and  I  know 
what's  good  for  me,  and  I  know  what's  good  for  every- 
body without  your  interfering.  Put  that  in  your  pipe  and 
smoke  it." 

As  he  spoke  he  moved  away  from  his  treasurer,  who 
sat  down  upon  the  mortar  and  joined  the  little  knot  of 
his  soldiers  who  were  making  merry  together  and  whose 
merriment  attracted  him.  As  their  leader  approached, 
they  arose  and  saluted  him,  but  seated  themselves  again 
in  obedience  to  a  gesture  from  him  while  he  addressed 
them. 

"Well,  boys,  it's  the  fine  time  you're  having  here,  I'm 

thinking.     Never  a  siege  like  this  have  I  seen  in  all  my 

days.     We    eating,   drinking,   and    smoking    comfortably 

here;    the   enemy   eating,   drinking,   and   smoking   com- 

216 


RING   A   RING   OF   ROSES 

fortably  up  yonder.  We  don't  fire  at  them  because  we 
can't  do  them  any  damage.  They  don't  fire  at  us  because 
they  know  they're  quite  safe  and  they  don't  want  to 
waste  their  powder.  Sure  it's  the  golden  age  come  back 
again,  and  it  seems  a  pity  to  spoil  it  by  taking  the  old  place." 

The  wearing  of  a  soldier's  coat  had  not  materially  lifted 
Master  Tulpin's  spirits.  "The  place  will  never  be  taken," 
he  said  gloomily. 

The  O'Flynn  turned  his  head  sharply.  "Who  says  the 
place  will  never  be  taken  ?" 

Conamur,  looking  up  from  his  book,  explained,  "Only 
Tulpin,  always  grunting." 

Flynn  turned  his  gaze  upon  his  melancholy  adherent. 
"Why  do  you  say  that,  my  merry  friend  ?"  he  asked. 

Tulpin,  with  a  wry  face,  condescended  to  explain: 
"  Because  the  thing  is  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff.  Look  at  the 
place!" 

Flynn  nodded.     "I  have  been  looking  at  it." 

Master  Winshaw  put  in  his  oar.  "Our  comrade  is 
inclined  to  the  lugubrious  mood,  but  in  this  I  am  with 
him.  Consider  its  walls." 

"Those  walls  are  a  wonder,"  Coin  said  wisely.  "It 
would  take  a  century  to  knock  them  down.  Leastways, 
with  such  powder  as  we  have." 

Gosling  approved  of  his  comrade's  remarks.  "Walls, 
is  it  ?  They've  no  need  of  a  wall  at  all  on  one  side.  Sure 
the  smooth  of  the  rock  would  defy  a  goat  to  climb  it." 

Coin  confirmed  his  judgment.  "Aye,  or  ten  goats 
either,"  he  added  sagely. 

Conamur  pressed  the  point.     "And  they  are  victualled 
to  stand  a  year's  siege  moreover,  and  right  well  victualled, 
too,  very  different  from  King  James's  army." 
217 


THE   O'FLYNN 

His  words  reached  Master  Beggles'  ears  where  he  sat 
apart,  and  roused  his  just  indignation.  He  rose  in  pro- 
test. "Come,  come,"  he  said,  "you've  got  no  call  to 
complain  of  your  rations.  O'Flynn's  Own  is  well  fed  to 
my  knowledge,  whatever  may  be  the  case  with  the  Frenchies 
and  the  rest." 

O'Flynn  imposed  silence  upon  his  treasurer.  "O'Flynn's 
Own,"  he  said,  "shall  eat  well  and  drink  well  so  long  as 
O'Flynn  has  a  guinea  left  of  his  millions.  O'Flynn's 
Own  is  the  finest  troop  in  the  king's  service,  and  'tis  sorry 
I  am  to  hear  one  of  us  say  that  yonder  castle  cannot  be 
taken." 

Tulpin  was  not  to  be  shaken.  "Yet  such  is  my  con- 
viction," he  persisted. 

Winshaw  supported  him,  "And  mine." 

Flynn  began  to  lose  patience.  "'Tis  talking  through 
a  horse-collar,  you  are,  for  foolishness,"  he  cried.  "My 
head  to  a  halfpenny  that  I  could  have  taken  it  any  day 
myself  since  we  came  here." 

Coin  dug  Gosling  in  the  ribs.  "Don't  you  love  him 
when  he  talks  like  that  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

Tulpin  riposted  the  O'Flynn's  assertion.  "Then  why 
didn't  you  ?"  he  asked  gloomily. 

Flynn  explained:  "Because  when  my  Lord  Sedgemouth 
was  carried  here  from  Dublin — and  it's  much  to  his  credit 
that  he  would  be  brought  here  for  all  he  was  wounded — 
he  gave  orders  that  nothing  was  to  be  done  until  he  was 
well  enough  to  take  command." 

Gosling  chuckled.  "Faith,  for  a  sick  man  he  has  been 
fairly  comfortable,  with  pretty  Mistress  Free  to  keep  him 
company." 

Conamur  looked  up  from  his  book  again  with  a  gentle 
218 


RING   A   RING   OF   ROSES 

sigh.     "I  wouldn't  complain  of  a  flesh-wound  myself," 
he  said;  "if  I  had  that  sweet  minion  to  nurse  me." 

The  O'Flynn  cast  a  reproving  glance  about  him.  "  Hold 
your  tongues,  boys.  No  light  talk  about  ladies.  If 
Mistress  Free  brightens  the  camp  with  her  presence,  'tis 
because  my  lord  likes  stage  plays — " 

"With  one  player,"  Conamur  supposed  with  a  faint 
hint  of  malice  in  his  voice. 

"Be  easy,"  Flynn  nodded.  "Sure  you  know  very  well 
that  Master  Burden,  poor  man,  is  busy  in  Dublin,  trying 
to  whip  up  a  new  cry  of  players  since  I  turned  his  old 
company  into  Trojans;  besides,  Mistress  Free  is  under 
the  care  of  Mistress  Oldmixon,  so  there's  no  more  to  be 
said,  and  if  any  one  wants  to  say  it  I'm  quite  ready  to 
forget  for  five  minutes  that  I'm  his  captain  and  to  settle 
the  question  as  gentlemen  should." 

Conamur  hastened  to  apologize.  "Indeed,  I  intended 
no  innuendo,"  he  protested. 

Master  Winshaw  took  advantage  of  the  momentary 
pause  to  put  a  question.  "  May  I  ask,  Captain,  if  you 
would  be  willing  to  confide  to  us  your  ideas  touching  the 
capture  of  yonder  castle  ?" 

Flynn  replied:  "With  all  the  pleasure  in  life.  Now, 
I've  been  studying  the  position  carefully  ever  since  we 
came  here,  and  I've  seen  a  few  sieges  in  my  time,  but  never 
a  one  like  this  for  silliness." 

Coin  applauded  loudly.     "Hear  him,  hear  him!" 

Flynn  continued:  "If  we  had  ten  times  the  men  we  have 
and  they  ten  times  better  equipped,  that  place  would  still 
be  too  strong  for  us.  No,  boys,  I've  come  to  the  conclusion 
there's  only  one  way  to  get  at  that  old  castle — " 

"And  that  way  is — ?"  Coin  questioned. 
219 


THE   O'FLYNN 

Flynn  answered  intersely,  "The  way  up  the  rock." 

Gosling  shook  his  head.    "There's  noway  up  the  rock." 

Conamur  again  deserted  his  book  for  a  moment.  "You 
might  as  well  talk  of  a  way  up  the  side  of  a  house,"  he 
declared. 

"You  couldn't  do  it  unless  you  were  a  fly,"  Winshaw 
said,  solemnly. 

Tulpin  improved  upon  his  comrade's  suggestion.  "You 
couldn't  do  it  if  you  were  a  fly,"  he  grunted. 

Flynn  regarded  his  comrades  with  a  look  of  philosophic 
disdain.  "Wait  a  bit,  wiseacres.  It  would  be  easy 
enough  for  fellows  like  us  to  climb  up  that  rock  if  only  old 
General  Van  Dronk,  that  sits  there  so  snugly  and  grins  at 
us,  were  obliging  enough  to  lower  us  a  rope." 

Gosling  grinned.     "Is  that  all  you  want?"  he  asked. 

Conamur  smiled  satirically.  "I  doubt  General  Van 
Dronk  is  likely  to  prove  so  obliging,"  he  said. 

Flynn  laughed.  "I  have  my  own  private  doubts  on 
that  matter.  I  fought  against  Van  Dronk  in  the  Low 
Countries.  A  wicked  old  devil  he  was,  too;  a  hard- 
hearted— hard-hearted  son  of  a  Dutch  gun." 

Then  said  Beggles  deferentially,  "Then  he  is  scarcely 
likely  to  lower  us  a  rope." 

Flynn  motioned  to  Beggles  to  be  silent  and  addressed  his 
comrades:  "Now  listen  to  me,  boys,  and  don't  be  talking 
so  much.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  man  named  Ulysses  ?" 

Coin  scratched  his  ear  thoughtfully.  "Was  he  a  judge 
on  the  Munster  circuit  ?" 

"He  was  not,"  Flynn  answered.  "He  was  a  foxy  old 
fellow  that  lived  in  Greece  yonder,  ages  and  ages  ago,  and 
it  was  ever  the  idea  to  him  that  you  could  go  farther  in  this 
world  by  cunning  than  by  force." 

220 


RING   A   RING   OF   ROSES 

Gosling  slapped  his  knee.  "Then  he  must  have  been  a 
lawyer,"  he  asserted. 

"Whist!"  Flynn  ordered.  "In  the  course  of  his  life 
this  Ulysses  and  a  party  of  friends  were  besieging  a  town 
called  Troy,  much  as  we  are  besieging  this  old  place,  and 
were  doing  no  better  than  we,  seeing  it  was  such  an  elegant 
stronghold.  So  at  last,  Ulysses  stands  on  the  two  feet  of 
him  and  says  what  I  say — where  force  fails  try  cunning." 

Coin  looked  at  his  revered  leader  with  keen  interest. 
"Captain  darling,  what  egg  are  you  hatching  ?"  he  asked. 

And  Flynn  answered  him,  "I'm  going  to  get  inside  that 
castle;  I'm  going  to  lower  you  a  rope  down  that  rock." 

Master  Winshaw  spoke  in  his  most  monumental  manner. 
"I  opine,  sir,  that  you  are  pleased  to  be  facetious,"  he 
said,  solemnly. 

Flynn  shook  his  head.  "  Devil  a  bit!  Listen  to  my 
intentions.  First  I  slip  into  my  shabby  clothes  again — 
and  that's  the  part  of  my  scheme  I  like  the  least — and 
round  my  body  inside  my  waistcoat  I  wind  a  coil  of  silk 
rope  as  slender  as  catgut  and  as  strong  as  steel.  Between 
twilight  and  dusk  I  slip  over  the  trenches  and  run  like  a 
deer  toward  the  castle.  You,  Coin,  and  you,  Gosling, 
fire  your  muskets  after  me — " 

He  paused,  and  Gosling  questioned  him.  "For  why 
should  we  do  that  ?" 

Flynn  explained:  "To  elude  the  enemy  that  I  am  a 
deserter,  flying  from  our  lines.  But  as  I  don't  want  to 
be  hit  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  aim  at  me  as  closely 
as  you  can." 

For  the  first  time  for  many  days  something  in  the  nature 
of  a  smile  was  observed  to  steal  over  Master  Tulpin's 
mournful  countenance.  "Ha!  that's  good,"  he  gasped 
221 


THE    O'FLYNN 

convulsively;  "as  he  doesn't  want  to  be  hit,  you  must 
aim  at  him  as  closely  as  you  can.  Oh!  that's  monstrous 
good." 

Conamur  continued  to  question  his  chief,  "But  if  the 
enemy  take  you  for  a  deserter,  what  then  ?" 

"Once  they  let  me  inside  their  walls,"  Flynn  replied, 
"you  may  wager  a  doubloon  to  a  duck's  egg  that  I  am 
master  of  the  castle." 

Tulpin,  who  had  now  mastered  his  brief  attack  of  mirth, 
questioned  him  with  his  accustomed  gloom.  "How, 
pray  ?" 

O'Flynn  was  in  an  explanatory  mood.  "I  know  old 
Van  Dronk  well  enough.  I  know  the  way  I  can  take  to 
make  friends  with  him.  Can't  I  talk  Dutch  to  him,  and 
can't  I  flatter  him,  and  isn't  he  a  man  that  drinks  like  a 
fish  ?" 

Winshaw  nodded  portentously,  "It  is  so  reported." 

Flynn  went  on  with  his  plan.  "Just  let  me  get  a  chance, 
one  chance  at  him  alone  and  I'll  settle  his  business.  Sure 
I  could  knock  him  on  the  head  easy  enough,  but  I'd  rather 
not  do  that  unless  I'm  driven  to  it.  So  I've  got  a  little 
syrup  here" — as  he  spoke  he  produced  from  his  pocket 
a  little  phial  which  he  held  up  for  a  moment  before  his 
comrades,  and  then  restored  it  to  its  hiding-place — "which 
I  got  from  an  apothecary  in  Dublin;  if  I  can  tilt  it  into 
his  drink,  it  will  send  him  to  sleep  like  a  child,  though  I 
swear  he'U  awake  with  a  headache.  Once  Van  Dronk  is 
out  of  the  way,  the  rest  is  easy." 

Winshaw  seemed  puzzled.  "I  do  not  follow  your 
thought,"  he  said,  doubtfully. 

Flynn  continued.  "When  I'm  off,  you'll  find  in  my 
tent,  under  the  truckle,  a  rope-ladder;  with  this  you'll 
222 


RING   A   RING   OF   ROSES 

steal  across  in  the  dark  to  the  foot  of  the  crag  and  wait 
there  till  I  throw  down  my  hat  to  you." 

"Why  your  hat?"  Tulpin  questioned  sullenly. 

Flynn  turned  sharply  upon  him:  "Because  it's  more 
convenient,  not  to  say  decent,  than  throwing  down  my 
breeches,  you  idiot.  'Tis  my  signal  to  you  that  I  have 
managed  Van  Dronk  somehow  or  other.  I  lower  my  cord; 
you  attach  ladder;  I  haul  ladder  up  and  make  fast.  Up 
that  ladder  you  climb  and  join  me, — presto!  we  command 
the  castle." 

Coin  clapped  his  hands.  "Well  said,  Captain  darling," 
and  the  applause  was  taken  up  by  the  rest  of  the  group. 

Under  cover  of  the  noise,  Master  Beggles  twitched 
Flynn  by  the  sleeve.  "Lord's  sake,  sir,"  he  pleaded, 
"refrain  from  this  insane  enterprise.  Consider,  if  any- 
thing should  happen  to  you,  where  should  I  be  ?" 

The  O'Flynn  laid  a  heavy  hand  on  Beggles'  shoulder. 
"Master  Beggles,"  he  said,  "if  anything  happens  to  me, 
I've  left  Castle  Famine  to  you  in  my  will,  treasure  and  all, 
so  you  are  all  right  anyhow." 

Master  Beggles  did  not  seem  satisfied.  "But  how  will 
you  ever  persuade  the  Dutchman — "  he  began. 

But  Flynn  promptly  silenced  him.  "That's  my  business. 
Enough!  Some  one's  coming!  Why,  'tis  Mistress  Free!" 


XXII 

MY    LORD    SEDGEMOUTH    RECEIVES    VISITORS 

FANCY  FREE  came  dancing  daintily  along,  treading 
her  way  to  the  tents  of  the  quarters  of  O'Flynn's 
Own;  she  greeted  her  familiar  friends  with  a  cheerful 
wave  of  the  hand.  "Good -afternoon,  all,"  she  cried, 
gaily,  and  then  suddenly  observing  the  floral  display 
about  her,  she  exclaimed  in  wonder,  "Why,  what  a  world 
of  roses !" 

Flynn  smiled  a  smile  of  satisfaction.  "'Tis  an  invention 
of  mine,  Mistress  Fancy,"  he  said,  "for  making  the  war- 
god  foppish." 

Conamur  came  a  little  forward  and  looked  at  Fancy 
with  admiring,  reproachful  eyes.  "We  thought  you  had 
forgotten  us,  Fancy,"  he  said  plaintively. 

"Never  in  all  the  world,"  Fancy  shook  her  head  ve- 
hemently protesting;  then  she  said,  "I  have  news  for  you, 
gallant  heroes,  but  first  you  shall  have  each  a  kiss  for 
the  sake  of  old  comradeship."  As  she  spoke  she  flung  her 
arms  round  Conamur's  neck  and  kissed  him,  and  then  she 
stepped  daintily  from  him  to  Beggles  and  from  Beggles  to 
Winshaw,  and  from  Winshaw  to  Tulpin,  kissing  each  affec- 
tionately. "I  could  scold  you,"  she  continued,  "for  leav- 
ing the  fellowship,  if  I  did  not  like  men  to  be  men." 

Flynn  looked  at  Fancy  with  a  smile  that  was  not  all 
224 


SEDGEMOUTH   RECEIVES   VISITORS 

joyous.  He  knew  very  well  why  she  was  there  in  the  camp, 
and  all  those  that  were  with  him  knew  the  truth  as  well  as 
he,  and  he  wished  almost  pathetically  that  he  did  not 
know  the  truth,  though  after  all,  as  he  told  himself,  if 
Mistress  Free  were  content  with  her  existence  and  had  a 
liking  for  my  Lord  Sedgemouth,  it  was  no  concern  on 
earth  to  a  battered  adventurer  to  vex  himself  over  the 
matter.  "What  is  your  news,  Mistress  Fancy  ?"  he  asked 
of  the  girl. 

Conamur,  who  had  been  watching  him,  suggested  slyly 
to  Fancy  before  she  could  answer,  "Have  you  never  a  kiss 
for  the  captain  ?" 

Fancy  laughed  a  laugh  that  was  not  quite  hearty.  "He 
was  not  of  our  brotherhood,"  she  said;  "I  am  not  on  such 
kissing  terms  with  him.  'Tis  my  thought  that  he  would 
deny  me  if  I  aimed  at  his  cheek." 

The  O'Flynn  shook  his  head.  "Little  rogue!  May  I 
remind  your  flightiness  that  you  carried  news  ?" 

Fancy  clapped  her  hands.  "Brave  news,  rare  news! 
There  be  visitors  coming  to  the  camp." 

Flynn  stared  at  her  good-humoredly.  "Sure  it  is  no 
news,  child,"  he  said. 

"No  news!"  Fancy  echoed;  "and  it  only  comes  to  my 
Lord  Sedgemouth  this  minute.  I  was  reading  a  comedy 
to  him  but  now  to  divert  him,  when  in  dashes  Captain 
Scully  that  Lady  Tyrconnel  and  a  bevy  of  ladies  are  coming 
to  the  camp." 

Flynn  looked  hilarious.  "Of  course  they  are,  the 
darlings,"  he  said  joyously. 

Fancy  looked  surprised.  "Of  course  they  are!"  she 
said.  "What  do  you  know  about  it?" 

Flynn  struck  an  imposing  attitude.  "Sure,  and  didn't 
225 


THE   O'FLYNN 

I  invite  them  ?  The  O'Flynn  of  O'Flynn's  Own  has  the 
honor  to  present  his  respectful  homage  to  the  Lady 
Tyrconnel  and  to  request  her  presence  with  her  suite  at 
a  ball  within  the  lines  on  this  blessed  and  holy  evening." 

Fancy  stared  at  him  with  uplifted  eyebrows.  "You 
never  did  that!" 

"I  ever  did!"  Flynn  answered,  emphatically.  "And 
all  the  beautiful  ladies  are  coming  like  flies  after  sugar. 
There's  to  be  an  elegant  collation  when  they  arrive  in  the 
big  marquee  yonder,  and  dancing  the  moment  it's  dark 
enough  to  light  the  flambeaux.  'Tis  the  evening  of  eve- 
nings, it's  going  to  be,  please  the  pigs." 

Fancy  gave  a  little  laugh  and  a  little  shiver.  "It's  a 
towering  rage  my  lord  will  be  in." 

Flynn  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Let  him  tower,"  he 
said,  complacently. 

Fancy  went  on  without  heeding  him.  "Why,  when  he 
heard  the  news  he  cursed  and  swore  as  famously  as  a 
pagan,  and  bade  me  go  about  my  business  while  the  visita- 
tion endures.  I  have  it  in  my  mind  that  there  was  some- 
thing he  wanted  to  do  with  this  day,  for  no  sooner  does 
he  hear  of  his  intended  visitors  than — though  he  is  whole 
of  his  hurt  and  has  left  his  bed,  though  not  his  tent  these 
two  days — he  calls  upon  his  physician  to  witness  that  he 
is  still  too  sick  to  play  the  host,  and  even  now  they  are 
carrying  him  hither  in  his  chair  to  meet  her  ladyship, 
though  he  can  walk  as  well  as  I  can." 

Flynn  gaped  at  her.  "What  does  the  good  gentleman 
do  that  for,  in  the  name  of  the  crows  ?" 

Fancy  suddenly  looked  cunning.  "There!"  she  pro- 
tested; "I'm  talking  too  loosely.  He'd  be  mad  with  me 
if  I  babbled." 

226 


SEDGEMOUTH   RECEIVES   VISITORS 

Flynn  reassured  her.  "Sure,  I  am  not  heeding  you. 
'Tis  little  I  care  what  he  does  with  his  time." 

Fancy  glanced  apart  and  pointed:  "Here  he  comes!" 
she  said,  "as  if  he  were  in  the  Mall  instead  of  this  wilder- 
ness. So  good-bye  to  you,  Captain  O'Flynn." 

She  darted  away  as  swiftly  as  she  had  come.  Flynn, 
following  the  direction  indicated  by  her  pointed  finger,  saw, 
as  she  had  said,  a  chair  was  being  carried  in  the  direction 
of  the  encampment.  He  turned  to  his  men  where  they  lay 
scattered  upon  the  ground  and  gave  the  word,  "Fall  in!" 
The  O'Flynn's  Own,  rising  obediently,  scrambled  and 
scuffled  into  some  kind  of  order  to  receive  their  com- 
mander. 

"Present  arms!"  O'Flynn  next  directed,  and  the  direc- 
tion was  obeyed  with  a  moderate  degree  of  military  pre- 
cision as  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  came  upon  the  scene,  car- 
ried in  his  chair  and  accompanied  by  a  sober-looking  man 
in  black,  who  was  his  physician.  The  bearers  set  down 
their  burden  and  the  physician  opened  the  gilded  door, 
and  my  Lord  Sedgemouth,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  man 
in  black,  got  out  of  the  chair  with  much  apparent  show 
of  difficulty  and  advanced  toward  Flynn,  leaning  heavily 
upon  his  stick.  He  looked  around  him  angrily  as  he  ad- 
vanced at  the  profusion  of  roses. 

"  Why,  what  a  devil  is  all  this  foolery  ?"  he  asked,  sourly. 
"  Who  gave  you  permission  to  stick  up  these  gim- 
cracks  ?" 

Flynn  tapped  his  chest  significantly.  "I  gave  myself 
permission,"  he  replied.  "  'Tis  a  way  of  the  O'Flynns. 
Sure,  the  vice-reine's  coming  to  see  me  and  I  wish  to  re- 
ceive her  decently." 

Sedgemouth  swore  at  him:  "Damnation!  Do  you 
227 


THE   O'FLYNN 

mean  to  say  that  you  have  brought  these  cursed  women 
here  ?" 

Flynn  raised  a  rebuking  hand.  "Easy,  my  lord,  easy! 
I  have  done  myself  the  honor  to  invite  her  grace  to  a  small 
entertainment,  and  her  grace  has  done  me  the  honor  to 
accept  my  invitation." 

Sedgemouth  glared  at  him  furiously.  "By  God!  sir, 
who  are  you  to  dare  to — " 

But  Flynn  interrupted  him  without  ceremony:  "I  am 
the  O'Flynn  of  O'Flynn,  an  Irish  gentleman  of  unblem- 
ished descent.  My  grandfather  served  the  first  Charles 
when  your  grandmother  was  selling  turnips  in  Covent 
Garden." 

Any  allusion  to  his  unfortunate  ancestry  always  irri- 
tated my  Lord  Sedgemouth  beyond  words,  but  now  he 
strove  to  restrain  himself,  and  with  livid  countenance  spoke 
scornfully  to  the  O'Flynn.  "The  first  time  I  had  the 
privilege  of  meeting  you,  you  were  drunk.  You  seem  to 
be  drunk  still." 

The  O'Flynn  laughed,  indifferently.  "Let  bygones  be 
bygones.  I  am  sober  enough  this  day." 

Sedgemouth's  anger  grew  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  keep 
calm.  "  Drunk  or  sober,  let  me  tell  you,  sir,  that  though 
you  are  here  by  the  favor  of  His  Grace  of  Tyrconnel, 
because  you  happen  to  have  the  money  to  raise  a  troop, 
you  are  not  master  of  this  camp,  and  if  you  ignore  my  au- 
thority I  will  drum-head  you  and  hang  you  for  a  mutineer." 

O'Flynn  drolled  him,  gleaning  at  his  fellows  as  he  spoke: 
"I'm  thinking  O'Flynn's  Own  might  have  a  word  to  say 
to  that,  seeing  they're  the  best  troops  in  the  camp,  even  if 
O'Flynn  himself  didn't  raise  any  objection — and  he  is  in- 
clined to  be  disputatious." 

228 


SEDGEMOUTH   RECEIVES   VISITORS 

At  these  audacious  words  of  O'Flynn's  his  followers  ex- 
pressed their  approval  with  significant  gestures  and  grunts 
of  approbation,  which  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  thought  it 
wise  under  the  circumstances  to  overlook. 

"I  am  a  fool,"  he  said,  "to  bandy  words  with  you. 
Thanks  to  you,  the  camp  has  visitors  of  distinction  who 
will  arrive  in  a  few  minutes.  Send  your  fellows  to  form  a 
guard  of  honor  for  the  vice-reine.  They  have  got  coats 
on  their  backs,  which  few  of  ours  have." 

O'Flynn  saluted  him.  "  I'm  obliged  to  your  lordship  for 
noticing  the  fact."  He  took  off  his  hat  with  a  magnificent 
gesture.  "Sure,  if  you  are  civil,  I  can  be  civil  too.  It's 
wrong  I  was  about  your  ancestor.  'Twas  apples  she  sold, 
not  turnips." 

Sedgemouth  glared  at  him  ferociously.  "Damn  you!" 
he  said,  and  said  no  more,  as  O'Flynn  gave  the  command 
to  his  men:  "Left  wheel.  By  your  left.  Quick  march!" 
and,  putting  himself  at  their  head,  marched  briskly  away 
in  the  direction  of  the  spot  where  the  ladies  were  expected 
to  arrive. 

No  sooner  were  O'Flynn's  Own  out  of  sight  than  my 
Lord  Sedgemouth,  abandoning  his  air  of  illness,  turned 
to  the  tent  which  served  as  a  shelter  to  Mistress 
Fancy,  and  called  to  her:  "Fancy!  Are  you  there, 
Fancy  ?" 

In  obedience  to  his  summons  Fancy  made  her  appear- 
ance. "Here,  my  lord,"  she  said,  and  dropped  him  a 
courtesy. 

Sedgemouth  addressed  her  pettishly:  "I  am  sorry  to 
banish  you,  child,  but  these  damned  women  are  cursedly 
interfering." 

Fancy  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "Is  it  less  than  high 
229 


THE   O'FLYNN 

treason  to  talk  thus  of  the  viceroy's  lady  ?  Not  to  speak 
of  the  lady  you  want  to  marry." 

Sedgemouth's  temper  got  the  better  of  him.  "  Keep  my 
marriage  out  of  your  mouth,"  he  cried,  "curse  you!" 

Fancy  drew  a  little  way  back  and  looked  at  him  with 
cool  disdain.  "Hark  you,  my  dear  lord,"  she  said,  "if  it 
pleases  me  to  be  civil  to  you,  it  must  please  you  to  be  civil 
to  me.  You  are  a  pretty  man  enough  while  your  speech  is 
sweet,  but  if  you  swear  at  me  again,  I'll  show  you  my 
heels." 

Sedgemouth  did  not  wish  to  quarrel  with  Fancy,  so  he 
made  an  effort  to  appear  amiable.  "Keep  your  temper, 
child.  I  ask  your  pardon  if  I  forget  your  humor  to  be 
treated  like  a  fine  madam." 

Fancy  made  a  face  at  him,  but  Sedgemouth  still  sought 
to  conciliate  the  girl. 

"I  want  to  be  treated,"  she  said,  "as  a  decent  man 
would  treat  a  decent  woman,  and  that's  too  much  to  ask 
from  you  or  for  me." 

"Pish!  devilkin,  don't  be  a  ninny.  You  should  have 
none  of  this  sick-a-bed  whimsies.  Why,  I  like  you  as  well 
as  another,  and  shall  like  you  better  if  you  will  do  me  the 
good  turn." 

"What  is  it?"  Fancy  asked. 

Sedgemouth  explained,  "I  have  urgent  reasons  for 
quitting  the  camp  for  an  hour  or  so  at  sundown;  'tis  to 
see  no  woman,  I  promise,  so  you  need  not  prick  up  your 
ears." 

Fancy  shook  her  head.  "My  lord,  my  lord,  I  am  not 
jealous.  I  think  you  are  more  anxious  to  hold  me  than 
I  you." 

"Prithee,"  Sedgemouth  continued,  "when  it  darkens, 
230 


SEDGEMOUTH   RECEIVES   VISITORS 

go  to  my  tent,  and  stretch  there  at  your  ease  on  my  sofa 
covered  with  a  cloak.  If  thereafter  any  should  come  to 
my  quarters,  my  physician,  that  knows  my  wishes,  will 
swear  I  am  sleeping  and  must  not  be  troubled;  will,  if 
need  be,  point  to  a  seeming  sleeper  on  the  couch.  Will 
you  do  this  for  me,  minx  ?" 

Fancy  nodded.  "  'Tis  no  great  strain  of  complaisance 
to  do  such." 

Sedgemouth  smiled  approval.  "You  are  no  politician, 
I  think.  You  are  not  for  one  party  more  than  another  ?" 

Fancy  laughed.  "I  am  but  for  one  party,"  she  pro- 
tested; "the  party  that  pays." 

Sedgemouth  patted  her  hand.  "Egad,  you  are  a  most 
sensible  woman,"  he  asserted.  Then,  glancing  away  from 
her,  he  saw  to  his  irritation  that  the  O'Flynn  was  returning 
alone  to  his  quarters;  he  hastened  to  dismiss  Fancy. 
"Now  to  earth,  vixen,  for  I  see  my  Rapparee  returning." 

Fancy  vanished  into  the  tent  again,  and  my  Lord  Sedge- 
mouth  carefully  reassumed  his  invalid  manner  and  appeared 
very  feeble,  indeed,  as  Flynn  again  came  into  his  presence. 

Flynn  saluted.  "The  ladies  are  sighted,  my  lord;  I 
have  placed  my  men  to  form  a  guard  of  honor,  under  my 
lieutenant." 

Sedgemouth  frowned  at  him.  "Why  have  you  re- 
turned, sir  ?" 

"Sure,"  Flynn  answered,  breezily,  "I  want  to  receive 
my  visitors  on  my  own  doorstep,  as  it  were." 

Sedgemouth  looked  steadily  at  him.  "You  carry  your- 
self very  arrogantly.  Who  would  think  to  hear  you  speak 
that  I  was  in  command.  But  while  I  can  stand  on  my 
feet,  sir,  you  must  concede  me  the  privilege  of  receiving 
the  vice-reine.  And  here,  I  perceive,  come  the  ladies. 

16  23 ! 


XXIII 

"IF  EVER  YOU  CAN  DO  HIM  A  SERVICE" 

THE  Duchess  of  Tyrconnel  was  no  longer  a  young 
woman,  but  she  still  retained  much  of  the  beauty 
which,  in  the  days  when  she  was  known  as  Frances  Jen- 
nings, had  won  the  heart  of  Richard  Talbot,  who,  in  his 
maturity,  had  made  her  his  second  wife,  and  a  duchess 
in  the  fulness  of  time.  She  moved  now  a  noble  centre  of 
a  circle  of  gracious  girls  of  whom  the  most  beautiful  were 
the  three  that  were  called,  in  Dublin,  "the  three  BV- 
Lady  Belinda  Fanshaw,  Lady  Barbara  Jarmyn,  and  Lady 
Benedetta  Mountmichael.  A  number  of  gallant  gentlemen 
escorted  her,  Captain  Scully  and  Sir  George  Mayhew  chief 
among  them. 

O'Flynn's  Own,  making  up  in  gorgeousness  of  uniform 
for  what  they  had  lacked  in  precision  of  drill,  formed  an 
imposing  line  through  which  the  procession  of  fair  ladies 
and  gay  gentlemen  advanced  toward  Lord  Sedgemouth. 

The  Duchess  of  Tyrconnel  looked  frankly  surprised  to 
see  Lord  Sedgemouth.  "Why,"  she  cried,  "my  lord,  we 
did  not  hope  to  find  you  afoot." 

My  lord  paid  her  his  profoundest  bow.  "Indeed, 
madam,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  melancholy  dignity,  "  by 
rights  I  should  not  be  abroad,  but  when  I  heard  of  your 
coming  I  would  not  be  constrained  from  greeting  you  for 
all  my  physician  urged  to  the  contrary." 
232 


"IF   EVER  YOU  CAN   DO   HIM  A  SERVICE" 

The  duchess  shook  her  fan  at  him.  "  I  fear  you  are  over- 
gallant,  my  lord.  Return  to  your  quarters,  I  entreat. 
We  shall  not  do  as  well  without  you  as  with  you,  though 
I  make  no  doubt  as  shall  do  very  well." 

Sedgemouth  bowed  again.  "Your  ladyship  is  most 
gracious,  and  my  infirmity  accepts  your  dispensation." 

The  vice-reine  turned  and  looked  at  her  little  court  of 
ladies;  she  singled  out  Benedetta  with  a  gesture.  "There 
is  a  child  here,"  she  said,  kindly,  "who  would  gladly  keep 
you  company  for  a  while.  Shall  we  lend  you,  Benedetta, 
to  his  lordship  ?" 

Benedetta's  fair  face  flushed  with  pleasure.  "I  thank 
your  ladyship,"  she  said,  gratefully;  then,  passing  with  a 
reverence  before  her  grace,  she  came  to  her  lover's  side. 
"Let  me  be  with  you,  my  lord,"  she  pleaded. 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  again  saluted  the  duchess.  "Your 
ladyships  are  too  good,"  he  said,  gratefully.  He  turned 
to  Benedetta,  and  there  were  tears  in  his  voice  if  he  could 
not  bring  any  show  of  tears  into  his  eyes.  "Dear  Lady 
Benedetta,"  he  said,  "it  is  a  second  grief  to  me  to  deny 
myself  your  company  awhile.  But  my  physician  will  have 
it  that  I  must  needs  be  alone  and  I  dare  not  cross  him. 
I  trust  I  shall  be  better  to-morrow,  but  for  the  time  I 
entreat  your  consideration  and  your  permission  to  re- 
tire." 

"You  have  them  both,  my  lord,"  the  duchess  declared 
warmly. 

Sedgemouth  made  as  if  to  depart,  and  then  paused  to 
speak  again:  "But  ere  I  go,  I  would  ask  your  grace's 
permission  to  present  to  you  the  gentleman  whose  lively 
Irish  wit  devised  this  festivity.  This  is  the  O'Flynn,  of 
O'Flynn's  Own.  Though  he  has  blooded  me  as  weak  as 
233 


THE   O'FLYNN 

a  kitten  I  bear  him  no  other  grudge  than  this,  that  I 
am  prevented  from  sharing  in  your  grace's  entertain- 
ment." 

O'Flynn  made  his  best  bow  to  the  Duchess,  who  eyed 
him  approvingly.  She  knew  a  pretty  man  when  she  saw 
one  and  in  her  gallery  of  gallant  gentlemen  she  recalled 
no  more  soldierly  figure  than  that  of  the  O'Flynn. 

"Why,  O'Flynn,"  she  cried,  "you  seem  the  Anacreon  of 
the  battle-field  and  we  are  glad  to  be  your  guests." 

O'Flynn  laid  his  hand  to  his  heart.  "Your  ladyship 
does  me  great  honor,"  he  protested. 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  interrupted  the  duchess  and 
O'Flynn  with  a  malign  smile.  "It  is  unfortunate,"  he 
observed,  "that  his  duty  prevents  Captain  O'Flynn  from 
playing  your  host  in  person  to-night." 

O'Flynn  looked  at  him  coolly;  he  was  surprised  and 
angry,  but  showed  no  sign  of  either  emotion.  So  this, 
then,  was  what  my  lord  had  meant  when  he  threatened  to 
put  him  in  his  place;  my  lord  knew  well  that  O'Flynn 
could  show  neither  resentment  of  my  lord's  conduct  nor 
disobedience  to  my  lord's  commands  in  the  presence  of 
the  vice-reine  and  in  the  presence  of  Benedetta.  After 
all,  however,  he  reflected,  it  mattered  very  little;  his  pur- 
poses might  be  best  served  by  Lord  Sedgemouth's  pro- 
hibition. But  if  O'Flynn  was  silent  and  resigned,  her 
grace  was  less  complacent. 

"Oh,  my  lord,"  she  said,  "can  he  not  be  relieved  of  this 
duty  for  the  nonce  ?" 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  smiled  a  dignified  denial.     "No 

soldier,  your  ladyship,  ever  wishes  to  be  relieved  of  a  duty, 

and  I  know  that  Captain  O'Flynn  is  no  exception  to  this 

rule.     But  I  request  Captain  Scully  and  Sir  George  May- 

234 


"IF   EVER  YOU   CAN   DO  HIM  A  SERVICE" 

hew  to  act  as  his  deputies,  and  to  make  you  forget  him  and 
me." 

Her  grace  shook  her  head.  "Not  so,  we  vow,  though 
they  make  excellent  company." 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  allowed  himself  to  slip  a  little 
and  placed  a  hand  in  the  neighborhood  of  his  heart.  The 
physician  darted  forward  to  support  his  failing  strength. 
"I  am  growing  faint,"  said  my  Lord  Sedgemouth,  faintly; 
"may  I  retire  ?" 

The  duchess  gave  her  permission.  "Surely,  surely.  We 
shall  hope  to  know  you  stronger  to-morrow." 

Sedgemouth  bowed.  "I  thank  your  ladyship."  He 
then  turned  to  Benedetta  and  spoke  with  the  rare  tender- 
ness which  he  could  infuse  into  the  tones  of  his  voice  when 
he  wished  to  charm  women.  "Farewell,  for  the  present, 
dear  lady,  I  am  almost  well,  and  the  sight  of  you  will  go 
far  to  complete  my  recovery."  Then,  moving  very  feebly 
and  weighing  heavily  upon  the  extended  arm  of  his  phy- 
sician, my  Lord  Sedgemouth  crept  into  his  gilded  chair 
that  was  lined  with  crimson  silk,  and  was  carried  away 
at  a  brisk  pace  toward  his  own  quarters. 

Her  Grace  of  Tyrconnel  addressed  the  Irishman,  whose 
appearance  she  admired.  "We  are  sorry  to  lose  your 
company,  O'Flynn,"  she  said. 

The  O'Flynn  bowed  again.  "I  could  not  have  better 
delegates,  your  ladyship."  He  turned  to  Sir  George 
Mayhew.  "Sir  George,  you  will  find  a  trifling  entertain- 
ment spread  in  the  pavilion  yonder,  and  the  violins  will 
tune  up  whenever  you  please." 

Her  grace  addressed  Captain  Scully  and  Sir  George 
Mayhew.  "Well,  gentlemen,  'tis  your  task  to  divert  us 
in  the  absence  of  our  host.  Take  us  everywhere,  show 
235 


THE   O'FLYNN 

us  everything;  but  before  we  part,  tell  me,  O'Flynn, 
what  put  it  into  your  head  to  turn  a  camp  into  a  nose- 
gay ?"^ 

"Faith,  your  ladyship,"  O'Flynn  answered,  "an  old 
soldier  is  always  superstitious,  and  'twas  ever  the  thought 
with  me  that  our  good  cause  might  be  rewarded  by  a 
visitation  of  angels;  and  your  ladyship  sees  I  was  right." 

Her  grace  applauded,  "A  pleasing  conceit  and  a  gal- 
lant interpretation." 

While  the  O'Flynn  had  been  speaking  he  had  gathered 
from  the  garlands  about  them  a  large  handful  of  the 
brilliant  flowers  that  made  his  camp  appear  so  fantastically 
fair.  He  advanced  toward  the  duchess  with  his  arms  full 
of  blossoms.  "May  I  offer  your  ladyships  posies  from 
my  roses  ?"  he  asked,  and  as  the  duchess  graciously  gave 
her  consent  he  presented  her  and  each  of  her  accompanying 
ladies  with  a  bunch  of  the  blooms;  to  Benedetta  as  if  by 
accident  he  came  last,  and  again  to  her  as  if  by  accident 
he  gave  but  a  single  flower,  the  last  that  was  left  in  his 
hands. 

Her  grace  beamed  upon  him.  "We  thank  you,"  she 
said;  "we  shall  hope  to  welcome  you  shortly  at  Dublin 
Castle." 

O'Flynn  bowed,  "I  shall  do  myself  the  honor  to  wait 
on  your  ladyship." 

Her  grace  smiled  her  fairest,  "Good -day,  sir."  She 
turned  to  the  gentleman  nearest  to  her,  "Captain  Scully, 
conduct  us."  And  so  her  grace  with  her  bright  and  lively 
company  went  their  way  beneath  the  arches  of  roses  to  the 
distant  pavilion  where  the  O'Flynns  awaited  them. 

Lady  Benedetta  lingered  to  the  last,  paused  for  a  second 
before  O'Flynn,  and  then  let  fall  at  his  feet  the  rose  he  had 
236 


"IF   EVER  YOU   CAN   DO   HIM  A  SERVICE" 

just  given  her;  O'Flynn  swiftly  stooping  picked  up  the 
flower  and  stood  for  an  instant  uncertain  whether  to 
restore  it  to  her  or  to  understand  that  she  had  purposely 
rejected  it.  Benedetta  shook  her  head  and  laid  a  finger 
on  her  lips  as  she  followed  quickly  in  the  direction  of  the 
departed  duchess. 

Flynn  stood  with  the  rose  in  his  fingers  wonderingly. 
He  had  seen  no  sign  of  unkindness  in  his  lady's  face.  He 
turned  to  his  Lieutenant  Conamur:  "Faith,"  he  said, 
"that  same  peevish  gentleman  served  me  better  than  he 
knew.  I  was  at  a  loss  for  occasion  to  slip  away  from  my 
guests  and  try  my  luck  with  the  castle  yonder,  and  sure  my 
lord  presses  opportunity  into  my  fingers." 

Conamur  looked  at  him  with  eager  interest.  "You'll 
try  it  to-night  then  ?"  he  questioned. 

Flynn  nodded:  "Of  course  I'll  try  it  to-night.  Could 
I  have  a  finer  audience  for  so  bold  an  adventure  and  could 
I  give  my  visitors  a  pleasanter  gift  than  the  keys  of  the 
castle  ?  Now  to  your  tents,  O  Israel.  Dismiss !  I'll  be 
with  you  by-and-by." 

O'Flynn's  Own  fell  out  and  departed  to  their  tents  in 
obedience  to  their  captain's  orders.  O'Flynn  stopped 
Beggles  for  a  moment  as  he  passed:  "Beggles,  my  friend, 
put  out  my  old  clothes.  I'll  have  a  use  for  them  again 
this  night,  and  it  ought  to  please  you  to  see  me  practising 
economy,"  he  said.  Then  he  gave  Beggles  a  friendly  pat 
on  the  back  and  sent  him  after  the  others,  remaining  alone 
in  contemplation  of  Benedetta's  rose.  He  walked  slowly 
up  and  down  for  some  time,  shuffling  rhymes  and  phrases 
in  the  attempt  to  make  some  verses  about  the  flower.  After 
various  experiments  he  got  some  lines  into  shape  and  he 
repeated  them  to  himself  in  his  solitude: 
237 


THE   O'FLYNN 

"Oh,  Rose  of  the  world,  if  I  gave  you  a  rose 
From  the  heart  of  the  Garden  of  Love, 

The  garden  so  green,  where  each  blossom  that  blows 
A  tear  or  a  smile  is  of  angels  above, 

Would  you  wear  or  disdain  it,  protect  or  reject  it  ? 

Would  you  guard  or  discard  it,  preserve  or  neglect  it  ? 
The  Rose  from  the  Garden  of  Love." 


He  shook  his  head  over  them;  they  were  not  what  he 
meant;  they  were  not  what  he  wanted  and  he  was  for 
beginning  over  again  when  a  light  step  distracted  him  from 
idle  verses  to  more  serious  thoughts.  Benedetta  had 
returned  and  stood  before  him.  She  looked  at  him 
whimsically,  "I  have  dropped  my  rose,"  she  said. 

O'Flynn  sighed,  "I  picked  it  up." 

"I  let  it  fall  of  purpose,"  Benedetta  said,  rapidly,  "for 
I  wanted  a  word  with  you  and  those  others  not  by. 
O'Flynn,  I  spoke  harshly  to  you  the  other  night,  gave  you 
bad  names,  upbraided  you — as,  indeed,  you  deserved  to 
be  upbraided." 

Flynn  repeated  his  earlier  assurance,  "I  had  sooner  be 
railed  at  by  you  than  praised  by  another/' 

"I  thought,  then,"  Benedetta  went  on,  "that  you  had 
forced  a  quarrel  upon  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  with  some 
fantastic  idea  of  getting  rid  of  a  rival." 

Flynn  protested,  "Haven't  I  told  you  a  thousand  times 
that  I  don't  admit  the  existence  of  a  rival  ?" 

Benedetta  frowned  a  little  frown  upon  him.  "Will  you 
be  still,  amazing  gentleman?"  she  asked.  "I  know  now 
that  it  was  your  belief  that  my  name  was  taken  lightly, 
which  made  you  do  as  you  did.  I  know  all  that  happened, 
for  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  told  me  all." 


"IF   EVER   YOU   CAN  DO  HIM  A  SERVICE" 

"Come,  that  was  mighty  honorable  of  him,"  Flynn 
approved. 

"He  is  all  honor,"  Benedetta  said,  gravely.  "His 
friends  were  praising  this  lady  and  that,  and  he,  because 
he  is  pleased  to  deem  me  handsome,  must  needs  thrust 
in  my  name  as  the  fairest  of  ladies.  This,  you  overhear- 
ing, took  for  a  slight  that  was  but  a  homage." 

Flynn  sighed  again.  "It's  the  devil  I  am  for  jumping 
to  conclusions." 

"I  was  rightly  angry  with  you  then,"  Benedetta  went 
on,  "  for  you  made  yourself  my  eneny,  though  you  meant 
to  be  my  friend.  But  I  am  not  angry  with  you,  for  my 
lord  is  well-nigh  whole  of  his  hurt.  I  want  you  and  him 
to  be  friends." 

Flynn  shook  his  head.     "I'm  afraid  that's  impossible." 

Benedetta  entreated:  "Come,  come,  Chevalier,  when 
can  a  lady's  wish  prove  impossible  ?  I  love  him — " 

"Are  you  sure  ?"  Flynn  questioned,  quietly. 

"Surely  I  am  sure,"  Benedetta  affirmed;  "I  love  him, 
and  I  like  you,  and  because  he  is  first  in  my  love  and  be- 
cause you  are  high  in  my  liking  I  cannot  abide  it  that  you 
two  should  be  enemies." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  and  then  Flynn  spoke 
again,  looking  steadily  at  the  girl.  "Let  us  understand 
each  other,  pretty  lady.  You  want  me  that  loves  you  to 
be  friends  with  him  that  you  think  you  love." 

Benedetta  strove  to  silence  him.  "You  must  not  speak 
of  loving  me,  I  forbid  it.  And  you  must  not  say  that  I 
think  I  love  my  lover;  I  forbid  it.  If  you  and  I  are  to 
be  friends,  O'Flynn,  it  must  be  on  my  terms,  or  else  good- 
bye to  the  friendship.  And  if  we  are  to  be  friends,  then 
I  command  you  to  be  friends  with  him." 
239 


THE   O'FLYNN 

"If  I  were  for  being  friends  with  him,"  Flynn  said, 
dubiously,  "I  doubt  he  would  be  friends  with  me." 

"Indeed,  he  will  be  so,"  Benedetta  insisted.  "Did  you 
not  hear  him  say  but  now  that  he  bore  you  no  grudge  for 
your  victory  ?" 

Flynn  smiled  ironically.     "I  heard  him  say  so." 

"If  he  can  be  so  generous,"  Benedetta  continued,  "you 
must  be  generous,  too.  You  beat  the  wind  when  you 
woo  me,  for  I  am  not  to  be  wooed.  But,  because  I  believe 
in  you  and  your  true  good-will  to  me,  I  say  this.  You 
would  make  a  great  enemy:  do  better,  and  prove  a  great 
friend.  If  ever  it  be  in  your  power  to  do  him  a  service,  do 
him  that  service  for  my  sake." 

Flynn  slowly  repeated  her  words:  "Do  him  that  ser- 
vice for  your  sake.  You  ask  a  great  deal,  lady,  but  yoti 
have  the  right  to  ask  all,  and  I  will  give  you  all,  even  my 
hope." 

Now,  even  as  Flynn  was  making  in  all  earnestness  this 
magnanimous  promise,  his  conference  with  the  lady  of  his 
heart  was  sharply  interrupted.  As  the  Lady  Belinda  Fan- 
shaw  came  running  toward  them  swift  and  nimble  as  a 
hare,  ineffectually  followed  by  Captain  Scully,  Lady  Be- 
linda rushed  forward  to  Lady  Benedetta  with  a  little  cry 
of  delight  just  as  Captain  Scully,  panting  and  flushed, 
reached  her  side  and  endeavored  to  restrain  her. 

"Lady  Belinda,"  Scully  gasped,  "I  entreat  you — " 

Lady  Belinda  laughed  maliciously.  "No,  no,  no,"  she 
cried;  "I  vow  I  must  tell  her;  she  will  laugh  herself 
fat." 

She  addressed  Benedetta,  "Child,  dear,  dear  child,  just 
a  jest  for  your  ear."  Then  she  turned  to  O'Flynn  with  a 
slight  inclination  of  her  head,  "Pray  pardon  me,  sir," 
240 


"IF   EVER  YOU   CAN  DO  HIM  A  SERVICE" 

she  said,  "if  I  intrude  an  instant,  but  my  news  is  per- 
emptory." 

Flynn  made  the  mischievous  lady  a  bow  and  withdrew 
a  little,  leaning  against  a  field-piece  and  surveying  the 
distant  castle  indifferently. 

Captain  Scully  still  vainly  protested,  "Nay,  it  is  a 
misunderstanding — a  mistake." 

Benedetta  looked  in  wonder  at  the  jangling  man  and 
woman.  "What  is  all  this  noise?"  she  asked. 

Lady  Belinda  explained  eagerly.  "Why,  what  do  you 
think,  child,  that  desperate  lover  of  yours,  that  terrible 
Lord  Sedgemouth,  for  all  he  is  so  death-bed  sick,  enter- 
tains a  woman  here  in  the  camp." 

Lady  Benedetta  looked  at  her  coldly.  "Indeed,"  she 
s*d,  and  said  no  more.  Captain  Scully  interrupted  the 
girl.  "Indeed,  dear  ladies,  let  me  explain;  Lady  Belinda 
mistakes — ' 

Lady  Belinda  would  not  allow  him  to  continue.  "Non- 
sense," she  said,  "I  do  not  mistake.  You  told  me,  broad 
and  long,  that  this  player-woman  was  here  under  Lord 
Sedgemouth's  protection." 

Benedetta  spoke  quite  calmly:  "But  if  this  is  so,  what 
has  it  to  do  with  us  ?  Surely  my  Lord  Sedgemouth's  pri- 
vate pleasures  are  my  Lord  Sedgemouth's  private  prop- 
erty, and  no  concern  of  another's." 

Lady  Belinda  looked  at  her  maliciously.  "No  concern 
of  yours,  dear  Ben  ?"  she  askedo 

"Not  at  all,"  Lady  Benedetta  answered  positively. 
"Surely,  dear  Belinda,  a  woman  of  fashion  does  not 
expect  her  lover  to  be  a  simpleton,  that  neither  plays, 
drinks,  nor  kisses.  Shame  on  you  for  a  Puritan." 

Lady  Belinda  looked  and  felt  disappointed.  "Well," 
241 


THE   O'FLYNN 

she  said,  "If  you  take  it  so,  I  am  content.  For  sure  I 
meant  to  amuse  you,  not  to  distress  you." 

"You  neither  amuse  nor  distress  me,"  Benedetta  said 
calmly;  "I  am  not  so  easily  diverted  or  disturbed.  You 
must  come  with  more  blood-curdling  tidings." 

"And  are  you  never  a  tiny  bit  jealous  ?"  Belinda  asked. 

Benedetta  shook  her  head.  "Nonsense,  Belinda, 
jealousy  is  not  in  the  mode." 

Lady  Belinda  was  disappointed.  "Then  I  have  no 
more  to  say.  Good-bye,  pretty  philosopher,"  she  said, 
and  turning  to  Captain  Scully,  who  stood  looking  a  picture 
of  misery  by  her  side,  "Come,  sir,  escort  me." 

When  Lady  Belinda  and  her  protesting  escort  were  out 
of  sight,  Lady  Benedetta  suddenly  abandoned  her  show 
of  fortitude;  she  sank  on  the  carnage  of  the  mortar  and 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

O'Flynn  was  by  her  side  in  an  instant.  "Don't  cry, 
childeen,"  he  entreated;  "it's  my  heart  you'll  be  breaking 
if  you  weep  salt  water." 

Benedetta  looked  up  at  him:  "I  am  not  weeping, 
O'Flynn,  never  fear.  But  I  am  so  angry  that  I  would  I 
were  a  man  for  a  minute  that  I  might  swear  and  stamp 
as  men  can;  for  I  am  jealous,  horribly  jealous,  though  I 
down-faced  that  mew-cat  I  was  no  such  thing.  Why,  I 
know  well  enough  that  our  men  are  seldom  single  lovers, 
with  their  man-gallant's  law  of  life  that  suits  them  finely, 
but  I  did  think  that  I  held  the  whole  of  his  heart." 

Flynn  looked  wistfully  at  her.  "'Tis  the  queer  fish  we 
are,  and  we  swim  in  a  queer  sea." 

Benedetta  rose  to  her  feet.  "I  could  have  sworn  I  was 
my  lover's  only  love;  I  believed  him  so  bound  by  my  bonds 
that  he  had  no  eyes  for  another  face,  no  ears  for  another 
242 


"IF  EVER   YOU   CAN   DO   HIM  A  SERVICE" 

voice,  no  clasp  for  another  hand,  no  kiss  for  another  lip. 
And  now  he  brings  this  player-jade  to  camp:  I  am  mad 
with  the  rage  and  shame  of  it."  She  was  pacing  up  and 
down  in  the  fierceness  of  her  rage. 

Flynn  murmured  softly  to  himself,  "  If  ever  it  be  in  your 
power  to  do  him  a  service."  He  turned  and  said  aloud  to 
Benedetta,  "Listen,  Colleen  ma  chree,  you  need  never 
taste  the  heartache  for  a  spiteful  hussy's  sting.  'Tis  true 
that  Fancy  Free  is  here  in  the  camp,  but  that  fly-by-night 
Fanshaw  Madam  is  misled  when  she  thinks  that  the  girl 
is  here  for  the  sake  of  my  Lord  Sedgemouth." 

Benedetta,  who  had  paused  in  her  impatient  promenade, 
looked  oddly  at  him.  "  For  whose  sake,  then  ?"  she  asked. 

"Good  faith,"  Flynn  replied,  "a  man  cannot  be  too 
chary  with  a  woman's  name.  But  what  I  say  will  do  the 
girl  no  wrong,  nor  will  she  wish  to  deny  it." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Benedetta  questioned. 

Flynn  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Well,"  he  confessed, 
"the  girl  is  here  for  no  other  a  man  than  me." 

Benedetta  stared  at  him.     "  For  you  ?"  she  said. 

Flynn  smiled  ruefully.     "For  me,  no  less." 

Benedetta's  mood  seemed  suddenly  to  change,  though 
she  still  showed  great  anger,  but  her  anger  now  was  not 
with  my  Lord  Sedgemouth,  but  with  the  man  to  whom 
she  was  speaking.  She  laughed  bitterly:  "For  you,  for 
you — how  excellent  a  jest!  You,  who  talked  so  tall  and 
rhymed  so  blithely;  Romeo  in  a  soldier's  coat,  can  you,  the 
pattern  of  Roman  ticks,  easy  emperor  of  the  realm  of  sen- 
timent, find  consolation  with  any  Doll  Tearsheet  or  Moll 
Cutpurse  to  hand  ?" 

Flynn  tried  to  interrupt  her.  "Lady  Benedetta" — he 
began. 

243 


THE   O'FLYNN 

But  she  swept  on  at  him :  "  Lord,  sir,  do  not  apologize.  I 
am  very  much  your  debtor  for  enlightening  my  simplicity. 
I  suppose  you  will  scarcely  credit  it  that  I  took  your  tink- 
ling cymbals  for  true  music,  from  the  very  choir  of  chivalry 
believed  in  your  passion,  was  cheated  by  your  phrases. 
Well,  sir,  well,  have  you  nothing  to  say  ?" 

"I  have  nothing  to  say,"  Flynn  said,  sadly. 

Benedetta  looked  at  him  scornfully.  "Pray,  do  not 
think  I  am  angry  with  you.  It  was  only  your  lively  Irish 
way  that  must  nee^s  try  its  wit  on  any  woman  that  passed." 
She  lowered  her  angry  tone  a  little  as  she  spoke  the  last 
words,  for  she  saw  Captain  Scully  approaching;  that 
worthy  gentleman,  indeed,  was  returning  to  endeavor  to 
repair  his  recent  blunder.  Benedetta  greeted  him  with  a 
radiant  smile  that  filled  him  with  delight;  she  turned  and 
bowed  coldly  to  O'Flynn:  "Good-night,  Captain  O'Flynn. 
Captain  Scully  will  escort  me." 

O'Flynn  saluted  her  gravely.  "Good-night,  Lady  Bene- 
detta," he  said,  and  went  his  way,  leaving  her  alone  with 
the  apologetic  Scully. 

"Your  pardon,"  Scully  began,  "if  I  importune  in  re- 
turning thus,  but  I  am  so  anxious  to  set  matters  right — " 

Benedetta  stopped  his  explanation.  "Matters  are  set 
right,  I  assure  you;  there  is  no  harm  done.  Will  you 
bring  me  to  her  ladyship  ?" 

"With  pleasure,  Lady  Benedetta,"  Scully  answered. 
He  offered  Benedetta  his  arm  and  she  was  about  to  take  it 
when  her  attention  was  attracted  by  the  figure  of  a  girl 
who  came  out  of  the  tent  on  the  little  inclination  that 
dominated  the  place  where  she  and  Scully  were  standing; 
she  called  her  companion's  attention  to  the  girl:  "Is  not 
that  the  girl  we  spoke  of?  Is  not  that  Fancy  Free  ?" 
244 


"IF   EVER   YOU   CAN  DO  HIM  A  SERVICE" 

Scully  glanced  at  the  girl  and  glanced  away.  "That  is 
she,  indeed,"  he  said.  "Shall  we  go  on  ?"  And  he  made 
as  if  he  would  lead  Benedetta  from  the  spot. 

Benedetta  had  now  an  idea  in  her  head  and  would  not  go. 
"Please  do  not  wait  for  me,  Captain  Scully,"  she  said;  "I 
will  join  her  grace  presently." 

Scully  would  fain  have  protested,  but  the  expression  of 
Benedetta's  face  silenced  his  protestations:  he  obeyed  and 
left  her  alone. 


XXIV 

FANCY    FREE    EXPLAINS 

FANCY  FREE  came  down  the  slope  humming  a  tune. 
The  evening  was  dusking  down  and  she  was  on  her 
way  to  Lord  Sedgemouth's  tent  to  keep  her  promise  to 
his  lordship.  She  suddenly  became  aware  of  Lady  Bene- 
detta  standing  in  her  path. 

Lady  Benedetta  spoke  to  her,  "You  are  Fancy  Free  ?" 

Fancy,  who  knew  Benedetta  well  enough,  answered  with 
veiled  hostility  as  she  dipped  a  courtesy,  "That  is  the  name 
I  sail  under." 

Benedetta  spoke  to  her  with  slightly  patronizing  dis- 
dain, "I  saw  you  act  awhile  ago;  you  are  a  pretty  player." 

Fancy  courtesied  again.  "Your  ladyship  is  very  con- 
descending." 

Benedetta  scrutinized  coolly  the  pretty,  impudent  face  of 
the  girl.  "Now,  that  I  look  at  you  nearer,"  she  said,  "I 
do  not  wonder  that  men  find  you  to  their  liking." 

"Neither  do  I,"  Fancy  answered,  impertinently. 

Benedetta  went  on  without  heeding  her  impertinence, 
"Yet  I  should  scarcely  have  thought  you  would  prove  the 
O'Flynn's  choice." 

Fancy  started  at  the  name  and  repeated  it.     "  O'Flynn!" 

Benedetta  laughed  scornfully.  "You  need  not  pretend 
to  be  surprised,  though  I  must  say  it  has  surprised  me." 
246 


FANCY    FREE   EXPLAINS 

"On  his  account  or  mine  ?"  Fancy  asked,  insolently. 

Benedetta  answered  her  sharply:  "You  are  pert  and 
foolish  to  assume  that  I  think  about  you.  But  O'Flynn, 
as  a  gentleman  whose  love  any  woman  might  be  proud  of, 
that  he,  who  professed — oh!  it  is  too  grotesque,  too  mon- 
strous." She  moved  away,  but  Fancy  followed  her  up. 

"Pray,  fine  madam,  what  is  O'Flynn  to  you?"  she 
questioned. 

Benedetta  answered  her  still  speaking  sharply:  "To  me 
— nothing,  girl.  And  if  you  think  I  am  angry  about  him, 
you  are  vastly  mistaken.  I  was  vexed,  indeed,  at  a  scandal 
which  coupled  your  name  with  that  of  a  gentleman  whom 
I  know  to  be  the  flower  of  chivalry;  it  is  only  amazement 
I  entertain  at  O'Flynn's  taste." 

Fancy  looked  Benedetta  full  in  the  face.  "You  talk 
very  foolish,"  she  said.  "The  O'Flynn  is  no  lover  of 
mine.  I'd  just  give  my  ears  that  he  were,  but  though  I 
wooed  him  plainly,  being  a  bold  piece,  he  would  have  none 
of  me." 

"He  would  have  none  of  you!"  Benedetta  repeated, 
amazed. 

"Even  so,"  Fancy  affirmed.  "He  was  all  flame  for 
some  nameless  lady;  at  least,  he  left  her  nameless,  and  I 
have  never  bothered  to  guess.  There  was  no  other 
woman  in  the  world  for  him;  he  would  sooner  be  disdained 
by  her  than  loved  by  all  others.  Oh!  he  was  neck  deep 
in  devotion,  and  I  could  not  entice  him.  All  this  I  tell 
you,  though  O'Flynn  is  nothing  to  you,  fine  madam." 

Benedetta  gave  a  little  cry  and  caught  Fancy  by  the 
wrist.  "Ah!  then,  if  this  be  true,  what  are  you  to  Lord 
Sedgemouth  ?" 

Fancy   shook    off   Benedetta's   clasp:     "I    think   you 

17    '  247 


THE   O'FLYNN 

question  me  too  liberally,"  she  said,  coolly.  "If  you  are 
curious  about  Lord  Sedgemouth's  concerns,  can  you  not 
ask  him  yourself?  I  have  the  honor  to  wish  your  lady- 
ship good-evening."  She  dipped  another  courtesy,  swung 
coolly  on  her  heel  and  went  away  swiftly,  leaving  Benedetta 
alone  with  her  anger,  her  sorrow,  and  her  surprise. 

Benedetta  had  stood  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  deepening 
dusk,  struggling  with  the  tumult  in  her  heart,  when  she 
saw  in  the  distance  O'Flynn  enveloped  in  a  long  mantle 
and  followed  by  two  men,  going  across  the  opening  in  the 
trenches.  Instantly  and  impulsively  she  ran  toward  him: 
at  the  sound  of  her  voice  O'Flynn  looked  round  but  did 
not  stay  his  course. 

"O'Flynn!  O'Flynn!"  she  cried,  "I  want  to  speak  to 
you."  But  O'Flynn  still  continued  on  his  way.  She 
cried  again,  "Where  are  you  going?" 

By  this  time  O'Flynn  had  reached  the  gap  in  the  earth- 
works, and  at  a  signal  from  him  the  two  soldiers  accom- 
panying him,  that  were  Conamur  and  Gosling,  and  that 
carried  their  muskets,  passed  through  and  disappeared 
into  the  darkness. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  Benedetta  repeated. 

Flynn  saluted  her  with  a  melancholy  smile  on  his  face. 
"For  a  walk  in  the  dark,"  he  answered,  and  leaped  down 
after  his  companions  into  the  ditch. 

Benedetta  stood  for  a  moment  in  silent  wonder;  then 
the  quiet  of  the  night  was  broken  by  the  sound  of  two 
shots  fired  in  rapid  succession  on  the  plain  below.  Bene- 
detta rushed  to  the  earth-works  and  leaned  over,  seeking 
in  vain  to  pierce  the  darkness.  "O'Flynn!  O'Flynn!"  she 
wailed  in  a  strange  voice,  for  she  now  was  beginning  to 
know  the  truth. 

248 


XXV 

LUITPRAND  VAN   DRONK  RECEIVES  A  VISIT 


ENERAL  LUITPRAND  VAN  DRONK  was  seated 
very  comfortably  in  the  spacious  room  which  he  had 
chosen  for  his  headquarters  at  Knockmore  on  the  evening 
of  the  day  on  which  the  O'Flynn  had  made  bold  to  enter- 
tain the  vice-reine  and  her  ladies.  This  room  immediately 
overlooked  the  steep  cliff  of  rock  which  made  one  side  of 
Knockmore  so  untakable,  and  it  was  Van  Dronk's  delight 
in  the  daytime  to  look  out  from  the  window  that  overhung 
the  precipice  and  survey  his  enemies,  employing  their 
futile  preparations  below;  but  on  the  fall  of  evening, 
General  Van  Dronk  found  better  amusement  in  sampling 
the  contents  of  the  splendid  cellars  of  which  he  had  been 
at  such  pains  to  secure  the  castle. 

Although  the  weather  was  summer,  the  great  room  was 
far  from  warm  and  General  Van  Dronk  enjoyed  the 
cheerful  blaze  of  the  fire  that  sparkled  on  the  hearth.  He 
sat  with  his  booted  feet  extended  to  the  blaze,  and  on  the 
table  by  his  side  bottles  and  glasses  were  ranged  in  com- 
fortable abundance,  and  a  single  candle  shed  a  faint  light. 

His  great  military  cloak  and  hat  were  cast  upon  a  chair 

and  he  was  sheltered  from  the  draught  which  the  insuffi- 

ciency of  the  window  permitted  by  a  great  wooden  screen 

which  snugly  enclosed  him  and  his  table,  and  so  made, 

249 


THE   O'FLYNN 

as  it  were,  a  room  within  a  room.  Thus  settled  and 
drinking  Burgundy,  General  Van  Dronk  was  as  happy  as  a 
Dutch  gentleman  had  a  right  to  be.  He  chuckled  with 
pleasure  when  drinking,  and  he  toasted  his  august  monarch 
in  cup  after  cup  without  turning  a  hair. 

While  he  was  thus  enjoying  himself  his  solitude  was 
interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the  door.  Van  Dronk  stirred  a 
little  in  his  seat,  finished  the  glass  of  Burgundy  which  he 
had  just  lifted  to  his  lips,  and  turning  slightly  in  his  chair, 
he  growled,  "  Kom  binnen." 

The  great  door  which  led  into  the  room  from  the  main 
part  of  the  castle  opened  and  a  young  man  entered  and 
saluted  the  general.  This  was  Lieutenant  Trusham, 
who  acted  as  leader  of  the  few  English  soldiers  under 
Van  Dronk's  command,  and  who  took  the  capture  of 
Knockmore  and  its  defence  very  seriously  indeed.  He 
was  a  ruddy,  sturdy  young  English  officer,  whiggish  and 
Williamite  through  and  through,  and  he  had  a  great 
respect  for  the  genius  and  daring  of  Van  Dronk,  though 
he  did  not  share  his  bibulous  qualities. 

Van  Dronk  looked  angrily  at  the  new-comer.  "Wat 
belieft  U  ?"  he  growled;  and  then  remembering  Trusham's 
nationality,  was  good  enough  to  translate  in  a  thick  gut- 
tural voice,  "What  you  want  ?" 

Trusham  explained:  "General,  the  sentinels  have  just 
brought  in  a  man  who  claims  to  be  a  deserter  from  the 
enemy.  The  Jacobites  fired  on  him  from  their  lines." 

Van  Dronk  grinned.  "So.  I  myself  asked,  why  those 
damn  fools  fire  ?  What  he  like,  this  man  ?" 

"An  Irishman,  General,"  Trusham  answered;  "one 
of  the  mad  Rapparees.  He  asks  to  see  you." 

"What  for  ?"  Van  Dronk  asked. 
250 


VAN   DRONK   RECEIVES   A   VISIT 

"He  says  he  can  give  you  valuable  information," 
Trusham  answered. 

Van  Dronk  filled  himself  another  bumper.  "Bring 
him  here,"  he  said;  "I'll  question  him.  If  he  no  use  I 
hang  him." 

Trusham  saluted.  "Yes,  General."  He  went  to  the 
door  from  which  he  had  entered,  opened  and  called, 
"Bring  in  the  deserter." 

A  moment  later  the  O'Flynn  entered  the  door  between 
two  soldiers. 

Trusham  pointed  to  him.   "This  is  the  man,  General." 

Flynn  made  to  advance  cheerfully  toward  Van  Dronk 
but  was  checked  by  the  uplifted  hand  of  the  reproving 
Trusham.  "Gooden  avond,  mijn  General,"  Flynn  said 
in  very  passable  Dutch.  "Het  verheugt  mij  U  vel  te  zien." 

Trusham  looked  at  him  with  a  suspicion  natural  to  an 
Englishman  who  hears  a  language  with  which  he  is 
unfamiliar.  "What  are  you  saying?"  he  questioned 
sternly. 

But  Van  Dronk  explained  the  matter,  "He  just  say  I 
look  well."  Then  he  addressed  himself  to  the  O'Flynn : 
"So  you  speak  Dutch,  do  you  ?" 

Flynn  smiled  apologetically.  "Just  a  word  or  two, 
General,"  he  said  modestly. 

Van  Dronk  grunted.  "Well,  there  is  no  need;  I  per- 
fectly English  speak  for  my  needs;  I  am  a  man  of  few 
words." 

"And  many  deeds,  General,"  Flynn  added  politely. 

Van  Dronk  took  a  pinch  of  snufF  and  grunted  again. 

Flynn  looked  at  the  general  with  reproachful  eyes  and 
sighed  heavily.  "I  fear,"  he  said,  "you  do  not  remember 
me,  General." 

251 


THE   O'FLYNN 

"Waarlijk,"  Van  Dronk  assented,  "I  should  not  'Who 
the  devil  are  you'  say,  if  I  remembered  you." 

Flynn  sighed  again:  "I  am  not  surprised.  Heroes  for- 
get heroic  deeds.  You  saved  my  life  at  Schwa rtzheim." 

Van  Dronk  stared  at  him  with  round-eyed  surprise. 
"The  devil  I  did;  so  you  at  Schwartzheim  were  ?" 

"Yes,  General,"  Flynn  explained  volubly.  "I  was  then 
a  sergeant  in  Littmold's  Reiters.  Some  twenty  or  so  of 
the  enemy  were  trying  to  put  an  end  to  my  career,  when 
you,  seeing  my  extremity,  charged  into  my  assailants  and 
scattered  them." 

Van  Dronk  scratched  his  head  under  his  huge  black 
periwig.  "I  do  not  remember.  I  wonder  if  you  the 
truth  speak."  He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  an 
idea  seemed  to  strike  him.  "We  shall  see,"  and  he 
went  on,  "What  like  was  the  weather  at  Schwartz- 
heim ?" 

But  the  O'Flynn  was  ready  for  such  questions,  and  he 
answered  glibly,  "Devilish  mixed  weather.  It  began  raw 
cold  with  a  sleety  rain,  but  by  mid-day  it  mended  and  the 
rest  of  the  action  was  fought  in  warm  sunshine." 

Van  Dronk  nodded  approval:  "True  enough,  true 
enough.  So  I  saved  your  life — I  wonder  what  for  ?" 

Flynn  volunteered  an  explanation,  eagerly.  "That  I 
might  have  this  opportunity  of  expressing  my  gratitude. 
General,  allow  me  to  embrace  you."  He  extended  his 
arms  as  he  spoke  and  made  as  if  to  clasp  Van  Dronk  to 
his  breast,  but  he  was  again  restrained  by  a  menacing 
gesture  from  Trusham. 

"  Bridle  your  enthusiasm,  my  good  sir,"  Trusham  said, 
sternly,  and  then,  turning  to  Van  Dronk,  he  explained: 
"Don't  mind  him,  General;  I  understand  these  Irish, 
252 


VAN   DRONK   RECEIVES   A   VISIT 

thoroughly.  I've  lived  three  months  in  their  island.  He 
only  wants  to  pay  his  respects." 

All  that  Trusham  got  for  his  attempted  interpretation  of 
O'Flynn's  intentions  was  a  peremptory  "Hold  your  head" 
from  Van  Dronk,  who  then  addressed  himself  to  Flynn : 
"You,  sir,  why  you  desert  James  Stuart?" 

Flynn  explained,  plausibly:  "I  was  forced  to  serve 
against  my  will.  I  care  nothing  for  James  Stuart;  I  care 
everything  for  Luitprand  van  Dronk,  my  savior."  Again 
he  made  as  if  he  would  embrace  the  Dutch  general,  and 
again  he  was  checked  by  the  disapproving  Trusham. 
"Pray  restrain  yourself,"  Trusham  commanded;  then  he 
added  to  Van  Dronk,  "These  Irish  are  so  exuberant." 

Van  Dronk  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Genuk,"  he  said; 
then  he  turned  to  Flynn,  "  Mijn  vriend,  I  take  a  liking  to 
you;  I  suppose  it  is  because  I  save  your  life,  though  I 
forget  it." 

Flynn  answered  genially,  "You  save  so  many  lives, 
General." 

"  Javol,"  Van  Dronk  agreed.  "Tell  me,  do  you  know 
good  wine  when  you  smell  it  ?"  As  he  spoke  he  filled  one 
of  the  cups,  that  stood  on  the  table,  from  the  bottle  by 
his  hand,  and  extended  it  toward  the  stranger.  It  was  one 
of  Van  Dronk's  rules  of  life  to  test  a  man's  merits  by  his 
capacity  for  appreciating  good  liquor. 

Flynn  took  the  cup  from  the  general's  fingers  and 
sniffed  it.  "A  true  votary  of  Bacchus,"  he  said,  "should 
be  able  to  tell  the  vineyard  by  the  smell  and  the  vintage 
by  the  taste.  This  juice  was  ripened  in  Upper  Burgundy 
and,"  draining  the  cup,  "I'll  swear  that  1660  is  its  birth- 
year." 

Van  Dronk  beat  the  table,  approvingly.  "Hemel  en 
253 


THE   O'FLYNN 

aarde,  you  are  a  fine  fellow;  you  know  good  wine  and  you 
shall  drink  good  wine.  Sit!"  And  he  turned  to  Trusham. 
"Lieutenant,  you  may  go,"  he  commanded. 

Trusham  appeared  surprised  and  reluctant.  "And 
leave  you  alone,  General  ?"  he  asked. 

Van  Dronk  shrugged  his  shoulders,  drew  a  pistol  from 
his  belt  and  laid  it  on  the  table  close  to  his  hand.  "Ah, 
bah!"  he  said,  "you  can  come  in  if  you  hear  a  pistol- 
shot." 

When  Trusham  and  the  two  soldiers  had  withdrawn, 
Van  Dronk  motioned  to  O'Flynn  to  seat  himself  at  the 
table,  an  order  which  O'Flynn  very  willingly  obeyed.  Van 
Dronk  filled  Flynn's  glass  and  his  own  with  the  noble 
Burgundy  and  then  addressed  him,  "Now,  mijn  vriend,  I 
suppose  you  expect  to  be  asked  questions  ?" 

"And  to  answer  them,  General,"  Flynn  acquiesced, 
cheerfully. 

Van  Dronk  looked  steadily  at  him.  "I  am  man  of  few 
words;  if  you  try  to  deceive  me  I  hang  you." 

Flynn,  who  was  in  the  act  of  swallowing  the  contents  of 
the  glass  of  wine,  set  down  the  cup  on  the  table  and  looked 
reproachfully  at  his  host.  "Is  it  after  saving  my  life  for 
me  that  you'd  be  talking  like  that  ?"  he  asked. 

Van  Dronk  took  no  notice  of  his  remark.  "Bah!  What 
is  the  condition  of  James  Stuart's  forces  ?"  he  questioned. 

"Why,  wretched  enough,"  Flynn  began;  then  paused 
in  his  narrative  to  interpolate  a  remark,  "but,  General, 
permit  me  to  observe  that  you  don't  drink." 

Van  Dronk  glared  at  him.  "I  don't  drink!  I!!"  he 
thundered.  "I  am  man  of  few  words,  but  I  am  man  of 
many  bottles:  I  drink  all  day,  I  drink  all  night." 

Flynn  shook  his  head,  waggishly.  "You  Dutch  gentle- 
254 


VAN   DRONK   RECEIVES   A   VISIT 

men  are  gallant  topers,  I  grant  you  that  gladly,  but  you 
can't  hold  a  candle  to  us  Irish  in  the  tossing  of  pots." 

Again  Van  Dronk  banged  on  the  table  with  his  clenched 
fist.  "That  is  one  lie,"  he  cried;  "that  is  one  big  damn 
lie.  Never  was  Irishman  yet  born  been  that  can  me  out- 
drink." 

"I  was  never  the  contradictious  spirit,"  Flynn  observed, 
mildly,  "or  I'd  be  taking  the  liberty  of  backing  my  thirst 
against  yours  any  day  of  the  week." 

Van  Dronk  derided  him.  "Nonsense,  mijn  vriend, 
nonsense!  Why  you  are  part  tipsy  already." 

"I  may  be  half  seas  over,"  Flynn  admitted,  "but  I  can 
swim  the  rest  of  the  ocean  so  long  as  it  is  Burgundy  like 
this." 

Van  Dronk  laughed  grimly.  "Well,  you  shall  have  your 
chance,  mijn  vriend,"  he  promised;  "for  there's  plenty 
bottles  to  hand,  and  tons  more  wine  in  cellar.  Wacht  een 
oogenblick." 

Van  Dronk  rose  to  his  feet  with  remarkable  steadiness, 
considering  the  quantity  of  Burgundy  he  had  been  im- 
bibing, and  turning  away  from  O'Flynn  toward  an  oaken 
cupboard,  that  stood  on  the  right  of  the  fireplace,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  extract  several  bottles.  While  he  was  thus 
occupied,  and  while  his  back  was  turned,  O'Flynn  swiftly 
produced  from  his  pocket  the  phial  containing  the  drowsy 
syrup  he  had  obtained  from  the  Dublin  apothecary  and 
leaning  cautiously  over  the  table  he  poured  its  contents 
into  Van  Dronk's  goblet.  When,  an  instant  later,  Van 
Dronk  returned  to  the  table  laden  with  flagons,  he  found 
his  companion  where  he  had  left  him  with  the  same  cheerful 
smile  of  incipient  intoxication  upon  his  face. 

Van  Dronk  opened  one  of  the  bottles  and  filled  O'Flynn's 
255 


THE   O'FLYNN 

cup  and  his  own.  He  raised  his  vessel  to  his  lips,  "Your 
good  health,  mijn  vriend,"  he  said,  and  drank  steadily. 

Flynn  raising  his  own  cup  to  his  mouth  and  feigning  to 
drink,  watched  Van  Dronk  curiously  till  the  Dutch 
general  set  down  his  empty  goblet.  "The  same  to  you, 
General,"  he  said  cheerily;  then,  after  a  pause  he  spoke 
again  as  if  to  remind  his  host  of  an  interrupted  conversa- 
tion, "I  think  you  were  doing  me  the  honor  to  ask  me  a 
question." 

Van  Dronk  nodded.  "Javol!  I  ask  you  what  is  the 
condition  of  James  Stuart's  forces  ?" 

Flynn  looked  melancholy.  "Mighty  bad.  French  officers 
that  grumble  and  keep  apart;  English  officers  incompetent 
and  bombastic.  The  ragged  levies  are  valiant  enough,  but 
they  are  ill-armed,  ill-fed,  ill-shod;  men  can't  fight  well  on 
naked  feet  and  empty  bellies,  General." 

Van  Dronk  yawned  prodigiously.  "That  is  just  so," 
he  said;  "you  are  sensible  fellow,  man  of  few  words, 
like  me." 

It  was  plain  to  the  O'Flynn  that  the  Dutch  general  was 
beginning  to  get  more  and  more  drowsy.  His  heavy  lids 
drooped  over  his  fierce  eyes,  his  huge  face  lowered  more 
and  more  toward  his  chest;  languor  was  evidently  stealing 
over  his  senses  and  his  limbs. 

O'Flynn,  with  ironic  sympathy,  questioned,  "Are  you 
feeling  sleepy,  General  ?" 

Van  Dronk,  stung  by  the  epithet,  made  a  desperate 
attempt  to  rouse  himself  from  the  lethargy  that  was 
overwhelming  him.  "I — sleepy?"  he  fumed;  "certainly 
not.  What  the  devil  put  that  in  your  fool-head  ?  Only 
thirsty — always  thirsty;  never  sleepy." 

O'Flynn  laughed  a  little  quiet  laugh  of  satisfaction. 
256 


VAN   DRONK   RECEIVES   A   VISIT 

"I'm  glad  you  aren't  sleepy,  General,"  he  said,  "for  I 
have  a  little  story  to  tell  you." 

Van  Dronk  lifted  his  drooping  head  with  a  jerk.  "Vat 
is  het  ?"  he  asked  heavily. 

Flynn  leaned  forward  across  the  table  and  whispered 
confidentially,  "There  is  a  plot  afoot  to  capture  this 
castle,  to  take  it  and  you  by  surprise." 

Stirred  by  these  words  Van  Dronk  succeeded  in  rousing 
himself  for  a  moment  from  his  growing  stupor.  "Kernel 
en  aarde,"  he  cried;  "they  are  children,  those  others;  I 
am  never  taken  by  surprise." 

"Certainly  not,  General,"  O'Flynn  cried.  "Yet  'tis 
a  pretty  plot,  too,  and  ingenious." 

Van  Dronk's  head  was  nodding  helplessly  again,  but 
his  stubborn  spirit  struggled  against  the  advancing  sleep. 
"Well,  go  on,"  he  grunted;  "don't  fall  asleep." 

"Listen,  General  darling,"  Flynn  said  coaxingly, 
"there's  a  crazy  fellow  in  the  camp  yonder  has  the  wild 
scheme  in  his  head  for  getting  inside  your  walls. 

Van  Dronk  lifted  his  head  with  difficulty,  propped  up  his 
chin  with  his  hand  and  stared  sleepily  at  Flynn.  "Don- 
der  en  bliksem,"  he  murmured;  "he  will  find  it  hard  to 
manage."  His  senses  were  slipping  swiftly  away  from  him 
in  spite  of  his  gallant  efforts  to  resist  his  drowsiness. 

Flynn  laughed,  "Impossible,  perhaps." 

Flynn's  laughter  proved  infectious  to  the  waning  wits 
of  Van  Dronk;  he  began  to  laugh  heavily.  "Quite  im- 
possible," he  muttered. 

"Unless,"  Flynn  suggested,  still  laughing,  "he  came  as 
a  deserter,  like  me." 

"Zekerlijk,"  Van  Dronk  agreed,  his  head  swaying  for- 
ward; "he  might  do  that." 

257 


THE   O'FLYNN 

"And  then,  sure,"  Flynn  continued,  "the  fellow  might 
gain  your  excellency's  confidence  with  a  wonderful  story 
of  your  having  saved  his  life  in  action" — he  paused, 
watching  his  victim. 

Van  Dronk  made  one  last  futile  effort  to  collect  his 
senses  as  the  meaning  of  Flynn's  words  troubled  his  dulled 
brain.  "The  devil!"  he  gasped,  and  struggled  ineffect- 
ually to  rise. 

Flynn  continued  laughing,  "And  then,  while  sitting  at 
wine  with  your  excellency — "  At  this  point  there  was  no 
further  need  for  him  to  continue;  Van  Dronk  gave  a 
strange  sound  between  a  grunt  and  a  groan  and  lay  supine 
in  his  chair,  wholly  overcome  by  the  action  of  the  drug. 


XXVI 

THE    FALL   OF    KNOCKMORE 

O'FLYNN  rose  to  his  feet,  possessed  himself  of  Van 
Dronk's  pistol,  and  studied  the  sleeping  man's  face 
closely  to  make  sure  that  he  was  really  as  helpless  as  he 
seemed.  "Come,"  he  murmured,  "that's  a  good  begin- 
ning, anyway,  as  Adam  said  when  he  found  a  name  for 
the  elephant."  As  he  spoke  he  opened  his  waistcoat  and 
produced  from  a  secret  pocket  in  the  lining  a  long  coil  of 
fine  silk  rope.  "It's  a  thousand  pities,"  he  continued 
addressing  the  sleeping  Dutchman,  "you  are  so  sleepy, 
General,  or  I'd  tell  you  the  rest  of  my  tale  of  capturing 
your  castle."  As  he  spoke  he  was  about  to  move  toward 
the  door  when  he  was  paralyzed  into  rigidity  by  a  loud 
knocking  at  the  door. 

For  a  moment  O'Flynn's  warm  blood  seemed  to  run 
cold  and  he  stood  thunderstruck;  this  was  an  unexpected 
interruption  that  looked  like  baffling  his  plan  at  the  very 
moment  of  apparent  success.  But  the  O'Flynn's  wit  was 
never  still  for  long;  his  quick  eyes  glanced  around  the 
room  and  surveyed  it  strategically  while  his  active  mind 
worked  briskly. 

In  a  moment  he  had  drawn  the  great  screen  a  little 
closer  round  the  table  where  the  sleeping  Van  Dronk  sat, 
and  resumed  his  own  place  opposite  the  general.  The 
259 


THE   O'FLYNN 

screen  was  now  arranged  so  that  no  one  entering  the  room 
could  see  the  person  seated  at  the  table  without  approach- 
ing and  looking  round  its  curtain.  OTlynn  called  out, 
imitating  Van  Dronk's  voice:  "Wat  belieft  U?  What 
you  want  ?"  Instantly  he  heard  the  door  open  and  the 
tread  of  Trusham  as  he  entered  the  room;  then  the 
voice  of  Trusham  spoke : 

"An  envoy  from  the  enemy,  with  a  safe-conduct,  asks 
to  see  you." 

O'Flynn  now  did  a  daring  thing:  he  carried  on  the 
conversation  between  himself  and  the  unconscious  gen- 
eral, parodying  Van  Dronk's  voice  very  happily.  "The 
devil!"  he  cried,  mimicking  the  guttural  Dutch  tone. 
"Houd  op.  Wacht  een  oogenblick.  Wait  a  minute." 
Then,  speaking  in  his  own  voice,  he  entreated:  "Oh, 
General  darling,  maybe  it's  somebody  come  after  me; 
sure,  you'll  never  be  after  giving  me  up."  Returning  to 
Van  Dronk's  voice,  he  continued:  "Be  not  alarmed,  mijn 
vriend,  you  shall  in  safety  be  kept."  Raising  his  voice  he 
called  to  Trusham:  "Wat  wilt  gij  zeggen  ?  Why  do  you 
me  like  this  interruption  ?" 

Trusham  explained:  "Your  pardon,  General,  but  the 
matter  seems  urgent.  This  person,  who  declines  to  give  his 
name  or  show  his  face,  knows  and  uses  our  secret  password." 

Flynn,  with  the  Van  Dronk's  voice  upon  him,  muttered : 
"The  devil!  This  must  important  be."  He  became 
Irish  again  as  he  pleaded:  "Oh,  General,  for  the  love 
of  Heaven,  put  me  somewhere  in  safety";  and  he  answered 
his  own  pleading  as  Van  Dronk:  "Be  easy,  mijn  vriend, 
you  shall  in  my  bedroom  go."  Again  he  called  to  Tru- 
sham in  the  voice  of  the  Dutch  general:  "Where  is  this 
personage  ?" 

260 


THE   FALL   OF   KNOCKMORE 

"He  waits  at  the  gate,  General,"  Trusham  answered, 
"pending  your  decision." 

Flynn,  still  speaking  as  Van  Dronk,  commanded:  "So. 
Send  him  to  me  at  once." 

Then,  as  soon  as  he  knew  that  Trusham  had  gone  out 
and  closed  the  door  behind  him,  he  muttered  to  himself, 
"Now,  who  the  devil  can  this  be,  and  what  the  devil  am 
I  to  do  ?"  He  addressed  the  sleeping  Van  Dronk  re- 
proachfully. "If  I'd  known  you  were  going  to  have  vis- 
itors, General  dear,  I'd  have  kept  you  awake  a  bit  longer. 
As  it  is,  I  must  take  your  place  for  a  while,  my  boy." 

A  whimsical  idea  had  occurred  to  Flynn,  born  of  his 
recent  brief  successful  attempt  to  mimic  Van  Dronk's 
voice:  he  would  carry  on  still  further  an  imposture  so 
successfully  begun.  Swiftly  he  lifted  Van  Dronk's 
enormous  black  periwig  from  his  head,  leaving  him  to 
look  grotesque  enough  with  his  round  bald  skull  shining 
in  the  fire-light.  Flynn  pulled  the  periwig  well  over  his 
own  fair  hair,  adjusted  it  to  his  face  to  conceal  it  as  much 
as  possible  with  the  drooping  black  ringlets;  then  he  put 
on  Van  Dronk's  great  military  cloak  and  huge  black  hat, 
pulling  the  latter  well  over  his  face  and  drawing  up  the 
collar  of  the  cloak  high  above  his  chin. 

Taking  hold  of  the  great  arm-chair  in  which  Van  Dronk 
sat,  he  swung  it  bodily  round  with  its  occupant  so  that 
there  was  nothing  visible  of  the  sleeping  man  to  any  one 
entering  the  room.  Then  he  blew  out  the  candle  that 
flickered  on  the  table,  leaving  the  room  to  be  lit  only  by 
the  fitful  flames  of  the  fire.  He  seated  himself  by  the 
table  and  waited  for  events  with  one  hand  firmly  clasped 
on  the  butt  of  Van  Dronk's  pistol. 

A  moment  later  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  "Kom 
261 


THE   O'FLYNN 

binnen,"  Flynn  called  out,  and  immediately  Trusham 
entered  the  room  followed  by  a  man  heavily  enveloped  in 
a  military  cloak.  Flynn  was  mightily  curious  to  ascertain 
the  identity  of  Van  Dronk's  mysterious  visitor,  but  in  the 
dim  light  he  could  make  nothing  of  him.  Flynn  made  a 
gesture  of  dismissal  to  Trusham,  who  immediately  left  the 
room,  and  Flynn  was  left  alone  with  the  stranger. 

The  stranger  advanced  to  speak,  and  instantly  Flynn, 
with  a  pang  of  horror  and  a  thrill  of  triumph,  recognized 
the  voice  of  my  Lord  Sedgemouth. 

"General  Van  Dronk — "  Sedgemouth  began. 

But  Flynn  lifted  his  hand,  and  still  speaking  with  the 
heavy  Dutch  speech  of  Van  Dronk,  said  to  him,  "Stop. 
First  of  all,  give  the  password." 

"Nassau,"  Sedgemouth  answered  at  once. 

Flynn  thanked  him.  "So.  Excuse.  I  am  a  man  of 
few  words.  Who  are  you  ?" 

"With  your  permission,"  Sedgemouth  replied  coldly,  "I 
will  keep  my  name  to  myself.  I  am  properly  accredited, 
as  you  may  believe,  from  my  knowledge  of  the  secret 
password,  and  as  you  will  know  when  you  do  me  the 
favor  to  read  this." 

As  he  spoke  he  drew  a  letter  from  his  breast-pocket  and 
handed  it  to  Flynn,  who,  taking  it,  went  toward  the  fire- 
place and  glanced  at  it  by  the  light  of  the  fire;  then  he 
turned  to  Sedgemouth.  "You  know  the  contents  of  this 
letter  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  do,"  Sedgemouth  answered. 

"Repeat  them,"  Flynn  ordered. 

Sedgemouth  obeyed  his  wish:  "In  this  letter  you  are 
instructed  by  your  august  master,  King  William,  to  open 
communication  with  your  enemy's  general,  offering  to  sur- 
262 


THE   FALL   OF   KNOCKMORE 

render  this  castle  into  his  hands  if  you  and  your  garrison 
are  allowed  to  march  out  with  all  the  honors  of  war." 

Flynn  grunted.  "A  very  strange  letter,"  he  said  thickly. 

"But  one,"  Sedgemouth  said  dryly,  "that  I  presume 
you  are  prepared  to  obey." 

"Wacht  een  oogenblick,"  Flynn  replied;  "I  am  a  man 
of  few  words.  Who  are  you  ?" 

"That  is  not  necessary — "  Sedgemouth  began. 

But  Flynn  interrupted,  insisting,  "  It  is  for  me  necessary. 
I  suppose  I  speak  with  Lord  Sedgemouth  ?" 

Sedgemouth  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Suppose  what 
you  please." 

Flynn  continued  in  his  broken  English:  "This  is  an  as- 
tonishing order  for  me  who  can  this  castle  for  a  year  hold. 
There  must  be  good  reasons  for  this  so  astonishing  order." 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  began  to  grow  impatient.  "Of 
course  there  are  good  reasons,"  he  said  sharply. 

"Tell  them  me,"  Flynn  commanded. 

"You  have  your  orders,"  Sedgemouth  responded 
angrily. 

"Which  I  not  understand,"  Flynn  continued.  "Per- 
haps I  do  not  English  very  well  know.  I  must  have  some 
reason  why  I  should  this  thing  do." 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  seemed  to  think  that  it  were  best 
to  humor  this  troublesome  Dutch  gentleman.  "I  can 
say  no  more  than  this,  that  on  your  obedience  depends  a 
plot  to  rid  King  William  of  King  James." 

Flynn  was  pertinacious.  "How  shall  the  surrender  of 
this  stronghold  to  the  enemy  rid  King  William  of  King 
James  ?" 

My  lord  condescended  to  explain  a  little.  "The 
surrender  of  this  castle  to  Lord  Sedgemouth  means  the 

18  263 


THE   O'FLYNN 

appointment  of  Lord  Sedgemouth  to  such  a  post  of  con- 
fidence about  the  person  of  King  James  as  will  enable 
him  to  facilitate  the  plot." 

"A  plot  to  kill  King  James?"  Flynn  said  hoarsely. 

Sedgemouth  put  the  matter  in  another  way.  "A  plot  to 
get  King  James  out  of  the  way,"  he  said  suavely.  "Now, 
are  you  satisfied  ?" 

Flynn  grunted,  "Quite  satisfied." 

"Then  you  will  surrender  the  castle  to-morrow?" 
Sedgemouth  asked. 

Flynn  nodded.     "To-morrow,"  he  acquiesced. 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth  saluted  him.  "I  take  my  leave," 
he  said. 

"Your  visit  has  delighted  me,"  Flynn  observed  politely. 
He  called  out,  "Hulloa,  Lieutenant,"  and  Trusham 
entered  the  room.  "Send  the  gentleman  to  the  gate." 

Sedgemouth  again  saluted  him.  "Good -night,  Gen- 
eral." 

"Good-night,"  Flynn  responded.  He  waited  until 
Sedgemouth  and  Trusham  had  disappeared  and  then 
began  to  carry  out  his  deferred  preparations,  talking  to 
himself  the  while.  "Here's  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish;  oh, 
my  dear  lord,  you're  a  bigger  rogue  than  I  took  you  for. 
You  mustn't  know  for  a  bit  how  I've  fooled  you,  though." 
And  all  this  while  O'Flynn's  Own  catching  their  deaths  of 
cold  at  the  foot  of  the  rock,  poor  dears/' 

He  took  off  Van  Dronk's  periwig  as  he  spoke  and  re- 
placed it  on  the  round  head  of  the  slumbering  Dutchman; 
Van  Dronk's  cloak  and  hat  he  returned  to  the  chair  from 
which  he  had  taken  them.  Picking  up  his  own  hat  from 
the  table  where  it  lay,  he  went  to  the  window  and  opening 
it  cast  the  hat  circling  and  whirling  into  the  air.  Then 
264 


THE    FALL   OF   KNOCKMORE 

he  began  to  pay  out  the  long  coil  of  fine  silk  rope  with 
which  he  was  provided,  murmuring  to  himself  the  while 
as  he  did  so:  "Sure  this  is  more  ingenious  than  the 
taking  of  Troy.  Ulysses  with  his  wooden  horse  was  a 
joke  to  O'Flynn  with  his  fishing-tackle." 

The  rope  swung  lax  from  his  strong  hands,  but  presently 
it  appeared  to  tighten.  "I  think  I  feel  a  bite,"  he  mur- 
mured; "yes;  here  they  come,  the  bold  heroes."  As  he 
felt  the  restrain  on  the  rope  he  began  slowly  and  steadily 
to  haul  it  up  until  after  a  little  while  the  grappling-hooks 
of  the  rope-ladder  came  within  his  reach.  He  fixed  them 
firmly  to  the  window-sill  and  waited  for  what  seemed  an 
incalculably  long  time,  though  it  was  really  only  a  matter 
of  a  few  minutes  until  he  saw  the  head  of  the  first  man 
mounting  up  to  him  through  the  darkness.  He  drew 
aside  and  in  another  moment  Conamur  had  scrambled 
through  the  window  and  climbed  in.  He  was  rapidly 
followed  by  Coin,  Gosling,  Winshaw,  and  half-a-dozen 
others  of  the  O'Flynn's  Own.  The  men  ranged  themselves 
noiselessly  in  the  great  room  obedient  to  the  warning  of 
O'Flynn's  uplifted  finger. 

"Now,  boys,"  Flynn  whispered,  "it's  as  quiet  as  mice 
you'll  be,  for  though  I've  muzzled  the  old  cat  we  aren't 
out  of  the  trap  yet." 

"God  bless  you,  Captain  darling,"  Coin  muttered 
approvingly. 

"Whist,  now,"  Flynn  replied;  "you  remember  what 
you  have  got  to  do  ?" 

"Yes,"  Conamur  answered. 

Flynn  remembered  honest  Trusham  waiting  in  the  ante- 
chamber, and  he  wished  the  latter  to  come  to  no  harm. 
"There's  a  lad  outside,"  he  whispered,  "that  I  don't  want 
265 


THE   O'FLYNN 

to  hurt,  but  he  must  be  got  rid  of.  Stand  there  in  the 
darkness." 

The  men  drew  back  into  the  darkest  corner  of  the  room, 
silent  and  motionless,  holding  their  breaths.  Flynn  went 
to  the  door  of  Van  Dronk's  bedroom  hard  by  the  fire- 
place, opened  it,  withdrew  the  key  from  the  lock  in- 
side and  placed  it  in  the  lock  outside;  then  he 
went  toward  the  main  door  and  called  out  in  a  loud 
voice,  "Lieutenant!"  Immediately  Trusham  entered  the 
room. 

Flynn  greeted  him  amiably.  "The  General  wants 
you,"  he  explained;  "he's  in  his  bedroom." 

There  was  nothing  surprising  in  the  O'Flynn's  state- 
ment, nothing  to  cause  Trusham  the  slightest  suspicion 
of  alarm.  Instantly,  Trusham  crossed  the  floor,  and, 
knocking,  entered  the  general's  bedroom;  in  another 
instant  Flynn  had  shut  the  door  behind  him  and  locked 
it.  He  then  turned  toward  his  men  who  now  emerged 
from  the  protection  of  the  darkness.  "O'Flynn's  Own, 
follow  me!"  he  cried,  and  left  the  room  rapidly,  with  his 
fellows  at  his  heels. 

For  a  moment  silence  reigned  in  the  great  room,  a 
silence  speedily  broken  by  the  voice  of  Trusham,  who  dis- 
covered, in  the  first  place,  that  General  Van  Dronk  was 
not  in  his  bedroom;  and,  in  the  second  place,  that  he, 
Trusham,  was  locked  into  that  room.  Trusham  rattled  at 
the  handle  of  the  door  angrily:  "There  is  no  one  here," 
he  shouted.  "I  say,  there  is  no  one  here,  and  the  door  is 
locked."  He  shook  the  door  fiercely,  but  he  was  unable  to 
open  it.  "I  can't  get  out,"  he  repeated;  "will  you  please 
open  the  door  ?" 

As  no  one  obeyed  his  request  Trusham  began  to  get 
266 


THE   FALL   OF   KNOCKMORE 

seriously   alarmed.     "What   is   the    matter?"    he   again 
shouted.     "Let  me  out,  let  me  out." 

At  this  moment  his  fears  were  increased  by  the 
ominous  tolling  of  the  castle  bell.  "General,  are  you 
there?"  he  yelled.  "Open  the  door,  or  I  will  blow  it 
open." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  then,  plucking  the  pistol  from 
his  belt,  he  fired  at  the  lock  and  shattered  it.  The  door 
was  soon  opened,  and  Trusham,  with  the  smoking  pistol 
in  his  hand,  sprang  into  the  room.  As  he  turned  to  the 
fireplace  he  saw  the  motionless  figure  of  Van  Dronk 
huddled  helplessly  before  the  fire  in  his  chair.  Trusham 
shook  him  violently  by  the  shoulder,  but  failed  to  rouse 
him.  "Good  God!  General!"  he  cried,  "what  is  all  this  ? 
Wake  up!  Wake  up!" 

Looking  wildly  about  him,  he  caught  up  a  bottle  of  wine, 
poured  some  of  the  contents  into  a  cup  and  dashed  the 
liquor  into  Van  Dronk's  face.  The  touch  of  the  cool  fluid 
did  something  to  restore  Van  Dronk  to  his  senses;  he 
opened  his  eyes  and  stared  stupidly  at  Trusham. 

Outside,  the  night  was  now  full  of  noises,  the  shouting 
of  voices,  the  discharging  of  firearms,  and  the  tolling  of  the 
great  bell. 

"What  the  devil  are  you  making  this  noise  for?"  Van 
Dronk  demanded,  sleepily. 

Trusham  shook  him  violently.  "Rouse  yourself,  Gen- 
eral; something  has  gone  wrong." 

Van  Dronk,  aided  by  Trusham,  managed  to  struggle  to 
his  feet.  "Heaven  and  hell,"- he  cried,  "I  begin  to  re- 
member. Where  is  that  damned  scoundrel  ?" 

"Not  the  Irishman  ?"  Trusham  cried,  beginning  to  un- 
derstand what  had  happened. 
267 


THE    O'FLYNN 

"Yes,  the  damned  Irishman,"  Van  Dronk  grunted. 
"The  castle  is  betrayed!  To  arms!" 

As  he  tried  with  Trusham's  aid  to  cross  the  floor  the 
great  door  opened  and  O'Flynn  entered  the  room  followed 
by  a  number  of  O'Flynn's  Own. 

"The  castle  is  ours,  General,"  Flynn  cried,  cheerfully, 
to  the  stupefied  Dutchman  and  the  astonished  Englishman. 
"God  save  King  James!  I'll  have  to  trouble  you  for  your 
sword,  General." 

Sullenly  Van  Dronk,  who  was  now  fairly  restored  to  con- 
sciousness by  the  shock  of  the  sudden  catastrophe,  drew  his 
swordfromits  sheath  andhandeditto  the  victoriouslrishman. 

"Well,  General,"  Flynn  went  on,  "if  you  didn't  save 
my  life  at  Schwartzheim,  you  did  me  a  good  turn  this  night 
by  believing  my  story,  and  one  good  turn  deserves  an- 
other." He  turned  to  Conamur:  " Lieutenant  Conamur, 
find  horses  for  General  Van  Dronk  and  Lieutenant  Tru- 
sham  and  send  them  under  escort  with  the  compliments  of 
the  O'Flynn  to  General  Schomberg's  camp.  There  you 
can  still  serve  King  William,  General." 

Conamur  evidently  questioned  the  discretion  of  his  chief. 
"Why  do  you  let  them  go,  sir?"  he  asked,  in  a  whisper. 

And  Flynn  answered  him  in  another.  "  I  have  my  rea- 
sons for  wishing  them  out  of  the  way  just  now."  He  ad- 
dressed Van  Dronk  again:  "Allow  me,  General,"  he  said. 
As  he  spoke  he  took  from  Van  Dronk's  belt  the  bunch  of 
keys  which  symbolized  the  possession  of  the  castle. 
"Good-night,  General."  Then,  as  Van  Dronk  and  Tru- 
sham  were  removed  under  escort,  to  be  sent  as  the  O'Flynn 
had  commanded,  to  General  Schomberg's  camp,  he  turned 
to  Conamur  with  a  smile,  swinging  the  keys  on  his  finger, 
"These,"  he  said,  "are  for  my  Lady  Benedetta." 
268 


XXVII 

IN   THE    PRESENCE    CHAMBER 

FEW  buildings  have  undergone  more  changes  under 
the  control  of  cormorant  devouring  time  than  Dublin 
Castle.  The  traveller  of  to-day  would  seek  in  vain  for  any 
traces  of  the  splendid  Presence  Chamber  which  the  Duke 
of  Tyrconnel  had  caused  to  be  renovated  and  decorated 
in  honor  of  his  royal  master.  Splendid  tapestries  adorned 
the  walls  whose  original  covering  of  pale-oak  panelling 
seemed  to  need  no  other  adornment  than  its  own  natural 
beauty.  The  banners  of  great  Irish  Houses  that  loved 
their  king  hung  from  the  gilded  and  painted  ceiling,  and 
stately  pictures  and  gleaming  armor  added  to  the  richness 
of  the  magnificent  apartment. 

On  the  night  that  followed  the  capture  of  Knockmore 
the  Presence  Chamber  was  a  blaze  of  color  in  readiness  for 
the  entertainment  that  James  was  giving  in  honor  of  that 
event.  But  as  yet  the  Presence  Chamber  was  deserted, 
save  for  a  few  servants  that  were  busy  in  making  the  final 
preparations  for  the  evening's  festivities.  He  that  appeared 
to  be  the  head  man  among  these  servants,  and  who  carried 
a  wand  in  his  hand  and  wore  a  chain  of  office  about  his 
neck,  was  a  man  of  uncertain  age  with  a  calm  impassive 
face  which  seemed  as  if  denied  by  nature  the  power  of 
expressing  any  strength  or  other  emotion.  This  man  was 
260 


THE   O'FLYNN 

now  giving  orders  to  the  other  servants  in  a  quiet  even 
voice,  and  his  orders  were  obeyed  with  that  alacrity  of 
precision  accorded  to  him  that  knows  how  to  command 
whether  he  be  no  less  than  an  emperor  or  no  more  than 
a  majordomo. 

Presently  the  door  at  the  farther  end  of  the  hall  opened 
cautiously  and  the  head  of  Master  Burden  showed  through 
the  opening.  Master  Burden  and  his  fellowship  of 
players,  united  now  temporarily  at  least,  after  the  in- 
cursion of  the  majority  of  its  members  into  the  field  of 
war,  had  been  bidden  to  the  castle  to  divert  the  king.  In 
the  castle  they  had  been  entertained,  and  were  now 
making  their  way  to  the  room  in  which  they  were  to  give 
their  performance.  Master  Burden's  white  face  with  its 
mane  of  sable  locks  looked  all  round  the  splendid  apart- 
ment with  some  degree  of  uncertainty.  Then  he  caught 
sight  of  the  chief  serving-man,  who  had  just  dismissed  his 
subordinates  on  the  completion  of  their  task,  and  entering 
the  room  he  advanced  majestically  toward  him.  "I  seek 
the  Gold  Room,"  he  said,  with  a  dignified  salute. 

The  calm-faced  man  pointed  in  the  direction  of  the 
door  opposite  to  that  by  which  Master  Burden  had  entered. 
"Yonder,"  he  said,  briefly,  and  Master  Burden  immediately 
returning  to  the  door  by  which  he  had  come  in  opened  it 
and  cried,  "Come,  friends." 

Thereupon  Mistress  Oldmixon,  Mistress  Fancy  Free, 
and  Masters  Conamur,  Tulpin,  and  Winshaw  entered  the 
Presence  Chamber  clad  in  their  players'  costumes. 

Master  Burden,  about  to  lead  his  little  company  in  the 

direction  indicated  by  the  serving-man,  suddenly  paused 

as  if  attracted  by  something  familiar  in  the  serving-man's 

countenance,  clapped  his  hand  to  his  forehead  dramatically 

270 


r 


IN   THE   PRESENCE   CHAMBER 

and  cried,  "Surely,  I  am  not  deceived;  you  are  our  old 
friend,  the  drawer  of  the  'Isle  of  Cyprus  '  ?" 

Hendrigg  saluted  him  gravely  with  a  quiet  smile  of 
acquiescence.  "Yes,  sir,"  he  said;  "I  am  now  in  the 
castle  service,  thanks  to  my  Lord  Sedgemouth.  Will  you 
take  a  little  refreshment  ?"  As  he  spoke  he  pointed  with 
his  wand  of  office  to  an  adjacent  table  whereon  there  stood 
a  number  of  flagons  of  wine  and  shapely  foreign  glasses. 

Master  Conamur  tickled  his  chin.  "We  have  been  well 
feasted,"  he  said  thoughtfully;  "but  a  glass  of  wine  is 
always — "  He  paused  for  a  minute,  evidently  in  the  hope 
of  saying  something  effective,  but  the  desired  inspiration 
failing  him,  he  concluded  lamely  enough,  "a  glass  of  wine." 

While  he  had  been  speaking  the  rest  of  the  players  had 
gathered  round  the  table  and  accepted  gratefully  enough 
the  administrations  of  Hendrigg,  who  filled  glass  after  glass 
for  their  satisfaction. 

Mistress  Oldmixon  lifting  a  well-filled  goblet,  protested, 
"I  could  not  drink  another  sip,"  and  drained  the  vessel 
to  the  last  drop. 

Fancy,  with  characteristic  frankness,  declared,  "I  could," 
and  was  as  good  as  her  word. 

Tulpin,  with  a  morose  countenance,  sipped  furtively  at 
his  glass  of  wine  and  made  a  wry  face  as  he  sipped.  "A 
poor  wine,"  he  ejaculated,  "a  thin  wine,"  but  nobody 
heeded  him,  for  Master  Winshaw  was  haranguing  the  com- 
pany with  his  richest  voice  and  heaviest  manner. 

"Oft  have  I  worn  crown  upon  the  boards,"  he  was  say- 
ing, "yet  never  knew  till  now  how  well  a  king  might  be 
provided  with  drink  and  victual." 

Hendrigg  surveyed  the  players  placidly.     "You  play  be- 
fore his  Majesty?"  he  asked. 
271 


THE   O'FLYNN 

Master  Burden  nodded.  "Yes,  a  trifle  of  Monsieur 
Moliere's,  which  our  friend,  the  O'Flynn,  has  found  time 
to  make  English." 

Tulpin  laughed  a  mocking  laugh.  "English!  Ha!  ha!" 
and  turned  disdainfully  upon  his  heel. 

Mistress  Oldmixon  protested:  "Come,  he  has  a  neat 
wit.  I  fancy  some  of  my  lines,  vastly." 

Tulpin  looked  upon  her  scornfully.  "You  are  easily 
pleased,  madam,"  he  said. 

Winshaw  declined,  "He  has  an  ear,  he  has  an  eye,  he 
has  a  heart." 

"You  are  easily  pleased,"  Tulpin  commented. 

Conamur  put  in  his  word,  "He  appreciates  me." 

Tulpin  grinned.  "He  is  easily  pleased,"  he  said,  ma- 
liciously. 

Master  Conamur  resented  this,  and  a  quarrel  might  have 
ensued  if  at  that  moment  Sir  George  Mayhew  had  not  en- 
tered the  Presence  Chamber  through  the  door  that  con- 
ducted to  the  royal  apartments.  As  he  entered  Hendrigg 
gave  him  a  respectful  salutation  and  quitted  the  room. 

Sir  George  addressed  the  players:  "My  good  friends, 
his  Majesty  will  rise  from  table  in  a  few  minutes.  Let  me 
bring  you  to  the  Gold  Room." 

Master  Burden  made  a  magnificent  gesture,  and  en- 
veloped himself  in  his  mantle  after  the  manner  of  an 
ancient  Roman.  "Conduct  us,  Sir  George,"  he  cried;  "I 
shall  be  glad  to  run  through  the  words  again." 

Tulpin  put  his  hand  to  his  forehead  with  an  expression 
of  despair.  "More  study,"  he  murmured. 

Sir  George,  with  a  grand  air  of  gallantry,  advanced  to 
offer  his  arm  to  pretty  Mistress  Fancy,  who  was  quite  pre- 
pared to  take  it,  but  her  intentions  were  quickly  frustrated 
272 


IN   THE   PRESENCE   CHAMBER 

by  Mistress  Oldmixon*  who  glided  swanlike  between  the 
man  and  woman  and  linked  herself  to  Sir  George's  ex- 
tended arm. 

"You  are  most  polite,  Sir  George,"  she  simpered,  and 
Sir  George,  making  the  best  of  the  mischance,  courteously 
armed  his  Cleopatra  into  the  Gold  Room,  where  he  was 
followed  by  Burden  and  Winshaw. 

As  Fancy  was  about  to  go  with  the  rest  Conamur  caught 
her  by  the  wrist  and  stayed  her.  "A  word  with  you, 
Fancy,"  he  said. 

Fancy  looked  at  him  with  a  little  grimace.  "What  is 
it  ?"  she  asked.  "You  have  ogled  me  all  day.  I  like  you 
better  since  I  saw  you  in  a  soldier's  coat,  but  'tis  too  late 
for  us  to  play  sweethearts." 

Conamur  looked  wise.  "I'm  not  so  sure.  Is  it  not 
time  you  tired  of  your  flightiness.  Let  us  make  a  match 
of  it  honestly,  like  a  pair  of  cits." 

Fancy  laughed  softly.  "They  say  a  reformed  rake 
makes  the  best  husband.  Has  the  proverb  a  feminine 
application  ?" 

"For  sure,"  Conamur  agreed.  "We  should  make  a 
most  sensible  couple." 

Fancy  began  pensively:  "Truly,  this  vagabond  life  is 
well  enough  when  a  body  is  young,  but  youth,  God  pity  us! 
withers,  and  then  the  road  is  dull.  I  tell  you  the  sight 
of  our  Oldmixon  frightens  me." 

"She  seems  content,"  Conamur  suggested. 

Fancy  gave  a  little  shiver.  "I  would  not  care  for  such 
content.  Let  me  leave  the  scene  with  limbs  still  brisk, 
lips  still  kissful,  eyes  still  lively." 

Conamur  tapped  his  chest  appealingly.  "Then  marry 
me." 

273 


THE   O'FLYNN 

Fancy  looked  dubious.  "I  am  no  poor  man's  darling — 
though  I  would  have  been  so  once — and  if  I  marry  I 
must  have  my  ease,  which,  I  fear,  you  could  never  give 
me." 

"To  that  point  I  tend,"  Conamur  said,  gravely. 
"Though  I  be  a  poor  player,  'tis  in  my  power  to  be  a  rich 
citizen — my  father  is  a  wealthy  draper  of  Bristol — " 

Fancy  interrupted  him  with  a  little  shriek  of  amusement. 
"Why,  you  rogue,  you  always  told  us  you  were  of  noble 
birth." 

Conamur  flushed  a  little  as  he  continued  his  confession. 
"He  meant  me  for  his  trade  and  his  heir,  but  I  hated  the 
shop  and  loved  the  buskin,  so  he  disowned  me  and  bade 
me  go  to  the  devil." 

"If  he  saw  you  now,"  Fancy  suggested,  "he  would 
swear  you  had  arrived  at  your  destination." 

Conamur  continued  his  story.  "He  would  give  his 
eye-teeth  to  have  me  home  again;  he  would  make  me 
partner.  I  should  be  rich.  We  could  marry  and  live 
happy  ever  after." 

"What  would  the  good  citizen  say  to  me  for  a  daughter  ?" 
Fancy  questioned. 

"Why,"  Conamur  explained,  "we  should  say  nothing 
about  the  stage  or  other  matters.  We  will  fake  you  a 
parentage;  you  shall  play  decorum,  simplicity — come, 
what  do  you  say  ?" 

Fancy  looked  steadily  at-  the  young  man.  He  had 
always  amused  her,  he  was  a  pleasant  companion  for  all 
his  little  vanities.  His  brief  experience  of  soldiering  had 
given  him  a  manlier  carriage  that  became  him  well,  and  if 
he  were  really  a  wealthy  man  to  boot,  his  proposition  was 
well  worth  considering.  She  did  not  give  my  Lord 
274 


IN   THE   PRESENCE   CHAMBER 

Sedgemouth  a  thought;  that  friendship  was  never  meant 
to  be  more  than  a  passing  episode  in  her  life.  "I'll  give 
you  no  answer,"  she  said  gravely,  "till  you  come  to  me 
and  say  that  you  are  sure  in  your  father's  friendship — 
sure  of  your  fortune." 

"You  are  a  damned  sensible  woman,"  Conamur  cried 
enthusiastically.  He  caught  her  in  his  'arms  and  was 
about  to  give  her  a  series  of  kisses  when  his  intention 
and  Fancy's  attention  were  diverted  by  the  entry  on  the 
scene  of  Captain  Scully. 

The  genial  soldier  made  haste  to  deprecate  his  ill-timed 
arrival.  "Don't  let  me  spoil  sport,  young  people,"  he 
entreated. 

Conamur  looked  a  little  sheepish,  but  Fancy  laughed 
gayly.  "No  sport,  but  earnest,"  she  asserted. 

Even  as  she  spoke  Sir  George  Mayhew  returned  from 
his  journey  to  the  Gold  Room  where  he  had  left  the 
players.  He  addressed  Fancy  in  a  tone  of  good-natured 
reproach.  "Come,  young  lady,  Master  Burden  is  im- 
patient." He  hastened  to  add,  "So  should  I  be,  if  I 
waited  your  coming." 

Conamur  caught  Fancy's  hand.  "Come,  Fancy,  come," 
he  cried,  and  the  merry  pair  ran  out  of  the  Presence 
Chamber  like  a  couple  of  school-children. 

Sir  George  Mayhew,  laughing  heartily,  went  up  to 
Scully,  who  said,  "  Sedgemouth  will  miss  that  divine  little 
devil,"  and  looked  after  Fancy. 

"Must  he  give  her  up  ?"  asked  Mayhew. 

Scully  smiled  significantly.  "Lady  Benedetta  is  per- 
emptory," he  declared,  and  was  about  to  say  more  when 
Lord  Fawley  entered  the  apartment.  Neither  Mayhew 
nor  Scully  had  seen  Fawley  of  late,  for  he  had  been  sent 
275 


THE   O'FLYNN 

on  service  outside  Dublin  for  several  days,  so  they  greeted 
him  with  much  cheerfulness. 

"Why,  Fawley,  where  did  you  spring  from?"  Scully 
cried. 

"From  Dundalk,"  Fawley  explained;  "watching  Dutch 
Billy  and  his  mynheers.  Tell  me  all  news." 

"Knockmore  is  taken,"  Scully  began. 

"And  Van  Dronk  escaped  to  William's  army,"  Mayhew 
continued. 

Fawley  looked  astonished.  "Who  took  the  place?"  he 
asked. 

Scully  explained,  "Why,  the  magnificent  O'Flynn." 

Fawley  seemed  more  surprised.  "Who  the  deuce  is  the 
'magnificent  O'Flynn'?"  he  questioned. 

Mayhew  reminded  him.  "The  extravagant  Rapparee 
in  the  Joseph's  Coat  who  pinked  Sedgemouth." 

My  Lord  Fawley  leaned  against  the  table  with  an  air  of 
extreme  surprise.  "Damn  me  black!"  he  cried,  and  his 
words  set  Scully  laughing. 

"Do  you  steal  Tyrconnel's  oaths?"  he  asked. 

The  sound  of  an  opening  door  caused  him  to  look  up 
and  to  observe  Sedgemouth,  who  came  into  the  hall  from 
the  king's  apartments.  "Here  comes  Sedgemouth,  let  him 
tell  you  the  tale,"  he  cried,  and  as  Sedgemouth  came  near 
he  pointed  to  the  new-comer,  "Here  is  Fawley,  ignorant 
as  a  fish." 

"Welcome  back  to  Dublin,"  Sedgemouth  cried,  greeting 
him. 

"Where  I  hear  strange  news,"  Fawley  observed; 
"  Knockmore — the  O'Flynn — ' 

Sedgemouth   took   snuflF.     "The   amazing  knave   took 
Knockmore  by  a  trick  and  filched  my  laurels." 
276 


IN   THE    PRESENCE   CHAMBER 

"How  was  it  done  ?"  Fawley  inquired. 

Sedgemouth  explained:  "Very  simply,  he  told  me  him- 
self. He  got  into  the  place  as  a  deserter,  dropped  a  rope 
to  a  few  of  his  fellows  and  contrived,  with  their  aid,  to 
lower  the  drawbridge.  Easy  enough,  once  you  think  of 
it." 

Again  Fawley  rapped  out  one  of  the  colored  vice-regal 
oaths:  "Paint  me  purple!" 

"The  rogue  did  not  rest  on  his  laurels,"  Sedgemouth 
went  on;  "he  professes  a  kind  of  quixotical  devotion  to 
my  Benedetta,  so  he  gives  her  the  keys  with  a  flourish 
and  gallops  off  through  the  night  to  Dublin.  Tyrconnel 
told  me  how  our  dear  king  was  going  to  bed  when  the 
ambassador  from  the  King  of  Munster — for  so  the  buffoon 
styles  himself — demanded  audience." 

"Roast  me  red!"  Fawley  commented. 

"Now,  you  may  believe,"  Sedgemouth  continued,  "that 
when  I  learned  what  happened,  I  lost  no  time,  weak  though 
I  was,  in  spurring  to  Dublin.  I  got  there  half  an  hour 
after  the  rascal,  feeling  sullen  enough,  but  his  Majesty 
was  all  smiles,  and  I  must  say  the  Irishman  had  acted 
handsomely.  As  his  only  reward  he  had  asked  his  Majesty 
to  give  me  the  post  I  now  hold,  the  post  of  which  his 
officiousness  had  gone  nigh  to  deprive  me." 

"Beat  me  blue!"  Fawley  gasped,  in  amazement. 

Sedgemouth  went  on:  "Ever  since  the  fellow  has  been 
the  hero  of  the  hour,  and  has  played  the  fool  gayly.  He 
has  made  himself  Master  of  the  Revels  to  his  Majesty, 
who,  as  you  know,  is  not  much  of  a  reveller — " 

"Gad!  no!"  Scully  cried,  emphatically. 

"Thus,"  continued  Sedgemouth,  "at  this  moment  his 
Majesty  is  in  that  room,"  and  as  he  spoke  he  pointed  in 
277 


THE   O'FLYNN 

the  direction  of  the  Gold  Room,  "witnessing  some  foolery 
that  O'Flynn  composed  in  the  trenches,  while  O'Flynn 
himself  is  in  that  room,"  and  he  pointed  in  the  direction 
of  the  king's  apartments,  "teaching  Lady  Tyrconnel  and 
her  ladies  to  dance  Irish  jigs  and  reels  for  the  present 
delectation  of  the  king.  Will  you  not  join  his  Majesty 
in  the  Gold  Room  ?" 

"Surely,"  Mayhew  agreed. 

"Are  you  with  us  ?"  Scully  asked. 

"In  a  moment,"  Sedgemouth  answered;  "I  keep  a 
tryst  here." 

Fawley,  Mayhew,  and  Scully  betook  themselves  in  com- 
pany to  the  Gold  Room,  and  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  was  left 
alone  in  the  great  Presence  Chamber  to  his  thoughts.  They 
were  not  pleasing  thoughts,  it  would  seem,  for  as  he  paced 
slowly  up  and  down  the  splendid  hall  an  ugly  frown  deep- 
ened and  darkened  on  his  handsome  face.  His  medita- 
tions, however,  were  soon  interrupted  by  the  appearance 
of  Hendrigg,  who,  making  sure  that  he  was  not  ob- 
served, addressed  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  with  quiet 
familiarity. 

"I  was  waiting  for  you,"  he  said.  "The  thing  must  be 
done  to-night." 

"Give  me  a  little  longer,"  Sedgemouth  cried,  impatiently, 
but  Hendrigg's  set  face  showed  no  sign  of  concession. 

"Not  a  day,"  he  said,  firmly;  "not  an  hour." 

"I'm  in  a  damned  quandary,"  Sedgemouth  declared, 
fretfully.  "  Lady  Benedetta  was  pledged  to  wed  me  after 
the  fall  of  Knockmore,  but  because  I  philandered  with 
Fancy  she  punishes  me  by  refusing  to  keep  her  promise." 

"Your  matrimonial  tangles  are  nothing  to  me,"  Hen- 
drigg said,  indifferently.  "I  have  reason  to  believe  that 
278 


IN   THE   PRESENCE   CHAMBER 

James  Stuart  may  join  his  army  to-morrow,  and  our 
chances  go  forever.  To-night,  my  lord,  to-night." 

Sedgemouth  looked  at  him  wickedly.  "How,  if  I  re- 
fuse ?"  he  asked. 

Hendrigg  took  his  evil  glance  with  absolute  unconcern 
as  he  answered  him  composedly:  "You  dare  not  betray 
King  William  as  you  dare  betray  King  James." 

Sedgemouth  grinned  viciously  at  him.  "  How  if  I  arrest 
you?"  he  asked;  "deliver  you  to  the  justice  of  James 
Stuart  ?" 

Hendrigg  was  never  a  laughing  man,  but  he  did  almost 
laugh  now.  "You  can  prove  nothing  against  me,"  he 
said.  "My  presence  here  is  due  to  your  patronage. 
Cease  to  be  childish,  my  lord."  He  glanced  over  his 
shoulder  as  he  spoke,  "Here  comes  the  lady." 

Benedetta  entered  the  room  at  the  moment,  coming 
from  the  royal  apartments.  Hendrigg  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment by  the  table  as  if  he  had  been  busy  there,  and  then, 
with  a  respectful  salutation,  withdrew  from  the  hall. 
Benedetta  advanced  slowly  to  Lord  Sedgemouth,  and  he 
moved  eagerly  toward  her.  "You  sent  for  me,  my  lord  ?" 
she  asked,  gravely. 

Sedgemouth  framed  his  face  to  its  most  winning  smile, 
tuned  his  voice  to  its  tenderest  utterance  as  he  pleaded, 
"Why  do  you  treat  me  so  unkindly  ?" 

Benedetta  shook  her  head.  "I  think  I  have  acted  very 
gently  by  you." 

Sedgemouth's  voice  expressed  contrition.  "I  will  not 
deny  that  I  have  acted  ill,  yet  every  man  of  fashion  does 
alike." 

"Then  I  would  have  my  lover  out  of  fashion,"  Benedetta 
said  steadily.  "The  true  lover  should  love  his  lady  so 
19  279 


THE    O'FLYNN 

much  that  she  should  seem  the  rarest  gift  of  God  to  man, 
and  he  should  have  no  thought  of  another.  Is  there  no 
such  love  of  man  for  woman  ?  I  think  there  is;  I  know 
there  is." 

"There  is,"  Sedgemouth  protested;  "and  it  reigns  in 
my  heart.  I  have  done  wrong  and  I  ask  pardon  for  my 
fault.  Give  me  yourself,  and  all  other  women  will 
vanish  from  my  world.  Forgive  me;  seal  your  forgive- 
ness with  the  gift  of  this  loved  hand  to-night." 

Benedetta  found  herself  strangely  indifferent  to  Sedge- 
mouth's  appeal.  "It  is  impossible,"  she  said  resolutely, 
and  wondered  at  her  resolution  as  she  spoke. 

"It  is  possible,"  Sedgemouth  insisted.  "The  castle 
chaplain  will  perform  the  ceremony  this  very  night;  I 
have  his  promise — ' 

Benedetta  interrupted  him.  "You  go  too  fast.  You 
ask  forgiveness,  and  I  forgive;  but  you  have  hurt  me  to 
the  heart.  A  week  ago  I  would  have,  married  you  with 
my  eyes  shut,  but  now  I  must  be  more  sure,  now  I  must 
put  you  to  your  probation.  Prove  faithful  and  loyal  for 
a  year  and  I  will  listen  to  you." 

Sedgemouth's  chafing  temper  began  to  get  the  better  of 
his  simulated  amiability.  "This  is  childish,"  he  cried; 
"I  want  to  marry  you  at  once — now.  Who  knows  what 
may  happen  in  a  year,  in  a  week,  in  a  night  ?" 

Benedetta  looked  fixedly  at  her  lover.  "If  you  love  me 
truly,"  she  said  slowly,  "you  will  be  glad  to  prove  your 
love."  She  dipped  him  a  courtesy  and  gave  him  a  melan- 
choly smile;  "I  must  not  keep  her  ladyship  waiting  any 
longer."  Then  she  moved  slowly  out  of  the  Presence 
Chamber,  going  toward  the  royal  apartments,  and  Sedge- 
mouth  made  no  attempt  to  stay  her  course.  He  -knew 
280 


IN   THE   PRESENCE   CHAMBER 

enough  of  women  to  understand  that  when  a  woman  really 
was  resolved,  she,  as  he  put  it,  really  was  obstinate. 

Hendrigg,  who  had  been  lurking  behind  a  door,  now 
joined  Lord  Sedgemouth.  "Is  the  lady  complaisant?" 
he  asked. 

"I  must  wait  upon  her  pleasure,"  Sedgemouth  answered, 
frowning. 

"We  cannot  wait  upon  her  pleasure,"  Hendrigg  said 
with  decision. 

Sedgemouth  snapped  his  fingers.  "No;  that  tale  is 
told.  I  suppose  there  will  be  fair  heiresses  at  William's 
Court." 

"Plenty,"  Hendrigg  replied  emphatically. 

"And  no  cursed  Irishman  to  dance  attendance,"  Sedge- 
mouth  added,  sourly.  "This  damnable  O'Flynn  has  a 
plaguy  knack  of  interference." 

"He  will  not  interfere  with  us,"  Hendrigg  declared; 
"since  he  anticipated  your  lordship  in  the  taking  of 
Knockmore,  he  has  done  nothing  but  play  the  fool,  drink- 
ing with  the  players  and  dancing  with  the  fine  ladies. 
Why,  he  did  not  recognize  me  but  now,  though  he  looked 
me  full  in  the  face." 

"I  wish  I  could  father  our  treason  on  him,"  Sedgemouth 
murmured;  "for  he  airs  his  service  on  my  lady  too  gayly." 

"Enough  of  him,"  Hendrigg  said  sharply.  "What 
time  does  the  king  retire  ?" 

"About  midnight,"  Sedgemouth  answered.  "I  under- 
stand that  his  coucher  is  a  mere  formality;  he  dismisses 
all  that  wait  on  him,  and  often  returns  here  to  muse  and 
pace  the  floor  for  hours.  Be  ready  at  one  o'clock.  You 
have  the  key  of  the  old  tower  ?" 

Hendrigg  nodded,  "Yes." 
281 


THE   O'FLYNN 

"Your  men  are  disposed  about  the  castle  ?"  Sedgemouth 
asked. 

"Yes,"  Hendrigg  said  again.  "True  Puritans,  worthy 
disciples  of  the  men  who  killed  Charles  Stuart." 

"There  will  be  no  guard  in  the  old  tower,"  Sedgemouth 
affirmed.  "Your  way  will  be  quite  clear." 

Hendrigg  looked  pleased.     "Good,"  he  said. 


XXVIII 

A    LETTER    FROM    o'ROURKE 

THERE  was  no  more  to  be  said,  and  Hendrigg  was 
about  to  quit  my  Lord  Sedgemouth's  company  when 
the  door  from  which  Master  Burden  had  entered  the  hall 
some  little  time  before  was  opened  again,  and  Master 
Beggles  popped  in  his  bird-like  head.  Seeing  Lord  Sedge- 
mouth,  whom  he  recognized,  Beggles  entered  the  room 
and  advanced  toward  him,  saluting  him  deferentially.  "I 
crave  your  lordship's  pardon,"  he  began,  but  Sedgemouth 
interrupted  him  rudely: 

"Who  the  devil  are  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"My  name  is  Beggles,"  Beggles  explained,  and  was 
allowed  to  explain  no  more,  for  my  Lord  Sedgemouth 
interrupted  him  again: 

"Go  to  the  devil,  Beggles,"  and  with  that  my  lord  turned 
on  his  heel  and  quitted  the  hall. 

Master  Beggles  turned  appealingly  and  apologetically  to 
Hendrigg.  " I  did  but  wish,"  he  declared,  "to  learn  where 
I  shall  find  the  O'Flynn." 

Hendrigg,  with  the  faintest  of  smiles  flitting  over  his  set 
face,  took  Master  Beggles  by  the  arm  and  conducted  him 
up  the  length  of  the  great  chamber  to  the  doors  that  led 
to  the  dancing-hall.  He  pointed  to  these  doors  and  spoke, 
"He's  yonder,  with  the  vice-reine  and  her  ladies,  teaching 
them  Irish  dances." 

283 


THE   O'FLYNN 

"  How  can  I  get  at  him  ?"  Beggles  inquired. 

Hendrigg  looked  at  him  and  spoke  impassively:  "Stick 
your  head  through  the  door  and  whistle,"  he  advised. 

Beggles  bowed  to  him  profoundly.  "I  am  much 
obliged  to  you." 

Hendrigg  smiled  his  grim  smile  and  left  him.  Master 
Beggles,  believing  the  advice  was  given  in  good  truth,  and 
taking  it  in  good  faith  indeed,  made  so  bold  as  to  open  the 
great  doors  and  thrust  his  bird-like  head  through  the  open- 
ing. In  the  distance  in  the  dancing-room  he  could  see  a 
number  of  ladies  footing  it  nimbly  to  brisk  music,  and  the 
O'Flynn  in  the  midst  of  them. 

"There  he  is,"  Beggles  murmured,  "in  the  thick  of 
them,  jigging  like  a  chicken."  He  made  a  desperate  but 
not  very  successful  attempt  to  whistle,  that  produced  no 
result.  "He  doesn't  hear  me,"  he  wailed;  "he  doesn't 
see  me." 

In  his  efforts  to  attract  the  O'Flynn's  attention  he  now 
enforced  a  horrid  sound  to  issue  from  his  lips,  which  had 
the  desired  effect.  O'Flynn  came  dancing  down  the  floor 
toward  Beggles  with  the  Lady  Belinda  Fanshaw  on  the 
one  arm  and  the  Lady  Barbara  Jarmyn  on  the  other;  Beg- 
gles retreated  before  his  coming,  backing  into  the  hall,  and 
Flynn  with  his  fair  companions  danced  after  him  through 
the  doors,  which  closed  behind  them,  and  stood  facing  him. 

"You  thief  of  the  world,"  Flynn  cried,  good-humoredly; 
"why  do  you  stand  whistling  there  ?" 

Lady  Barbara  looked- at  Beggles  in  amazement.  "What 
do  you  want,  funny  man  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  want  the  O'Flynn,"  Beggles  explained. 

Lady  Belinda  appeared  amused  at  the  explanation. 
"Why,  everybody  wants  the  O'Flynn,"  she  said.  She 
284 


A  LETTER   FROM   O'ROURKE 

turned  to  her  companion,  "But  we  can't  spare  you,  can 
we,  O'Flynn  ?" 

Flynn  addressed  the  fair  ladies,  apologetically:  "Dainty 
angels,"  he  said,  "I  crave  your  patience.  I  read  urgency 
on  yonder  solemn  countenance:  I  will  be  with  you  directly." 

Barbara  laid  an  impressive  hand  upon  his  arm.  "Mind 
you  are,  O'Flynn,"  she  said. 

Belinda  gave  him  a  commanding  smile.  "Or  we  shall 
be  very  angry,"  she  promised. 

Then  the  two  ladies  went  back  to  the  dancers  and  Flynn 
was  left  alone  with  Master  Beggles. 

Flynn  addressed  Master  Beggles  with  a  certain  impera- 
tive tone  of  assertion  in  his  voice.  "Why  do  you  come 
bothering  me  ?"  he  asked,  "when  I'm  teaching  the  angels 
to  dance  in  Irish  ?" 

Master  Beggles  produced  from  an  inner  pocket  a  letter 
that  was  sealed  in  many  places.  It  was  addressed  in  a 
large  scrawling  hand,  and  was  dirty  with  many  finger- 
marks. "There  has  come  a  letter  for  you,  O'Flynn," 
Beggles  said,  as  he  handed  the  letter  to  Flynn,  "that  was 
carried  by  a  countryman."  As  Flynn  took  the  letter  he 
continued,  "And  now,  if  you  will  allow  me — " 

But  Flynn,  who  was  studying  the  document  curiously, 
paid  no  attention,  but  read  aloud  the  address,  which  ran: 
"'To  the  O'Flynn,  God  bless  him,  at  the  place  of  James 
Stuart  in  Dublin.  Haste,  haste,  post  haste.'"  Then  he 
paused  and  eyed  the  handwriting  again.  "Sure,"  he  said, 
"I've  seen  that  strange  hand  before." 

By  this  time  Beggles  had  got  out  his  note-book  and  was 
holding  it  tentatively  toward  O'Flynn,  while  he  mur- 
mured, "I  have  been  casting  a  quiet  eye  over  my  accounts, 
and — " 

285 


THE   O'FLYNN 

But  Flynn  still  continued  to  pay  no  heed  to  his  hench- 
man's remarks.  "Well,"  he  said,  "the  best  way  to 
learn  is  to  open  it."  He  tore  the  letter  open  and  began 
to  read,  "'Master  darling' — "  Then  he  cried,  "Why,  by 
the  holy,  'tis  from  O'Rourke." 

Beggles  plucked  anxiously  at  his  sleeve,  "As  I  was  say- 
ing," he  continued,  "I've  been  looking  into  our  affairs  and 
I  find—" 

Flynn,  indifferent  to  his  solicitude,  read  the  letter 
rapidly  through  to  himself;  then  he  struck  an  emphatic 
blow  on  his  thigh.  "Well,  in  all  the  world,"  he  cried, 
"Was  there  ever?  Sure  it  beats  Banagher!" 

Master  Beggles  continued  his  plaintive  screed  to  deaf 
ears,  "That  my  capital  is  burning  out  like  a  candle-end, 
and  as  Midsummer  Day  is  at  hand,  I  suggest  that  we 
should  journey  to  your  castle  to  unearth  the  treasure." 

Flynn  turned  upon  him  with  a  beaming  face,  and  a 
great  shout  of  laughter.  "Treasure!  Treasure,  is  it?" 
he  cried.  "Man  alive,  there  is  a  treasure;  just  listen  to 
this — "  He  shook  the  letter  for  a  moment  in  Beggles' 
face  and  then  began  to  read  it  aloud:  "  'Master  darling, 
may  all  the  saints  and  angels  protect  you  and  continue 
your  steady  finger  on  the  trigger  and  your  strong  head 
for  the  drink.  This  is  to  tell  you  what  you'll  scarce  be 
believing,  that  I've  found  the  old  treasure  after  all,  and 
where  do  you  think  it  was  all  the  time  ?  Under  the  old 
pigsty  where  there  hasn't  been  a  pig  for  ages;  but  I 
bought  a  fat  pig  with  part  of  the  money  your  honor  gave 
me,  to  make  the  old  castle  seem  more  homelike,  and,  in 
tidying  up  for  the  poor  beast,  sure  I  stuck  my  spade  into 
the  thick  of  it.  Sure  there  never  was  so  much  gold  to- 
gether since  the  beginning  of  the  world.'  " 
286 


A   LETTER   FROM   O'ROURKE 

He  turned  to  Beggles,  his  voice  shaking  with  laughter, 
the  tears  of  laughter  running  from  his  eyes.  "Now,  look 
at  that,"  he  shouted;  "never  say  that  the  age  of  miracles 
is  past." 

Beggles  pointed  a  claw-like  finger  at  him.  "  But,  sir,  you 
seem  surprised — "  he  began. 

But  Flynn  silenced  him  with  another  shout,  "Well,  and 
wouldn't  you  be  surprised  if  you  found  a  heap  of  gold  in 
a  pigsty?" 

Beggles  addressed  him  in  a  horrified  voice.  "You 
don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  didn't  think  there  was  a 
treasure  ?" 

Flynn  reproved  him  joyously:  "Now,  what  business 
would  I  have  to  be  thinking  there  wasn't  a  treasure  when 
the  treasure  was  there  all  the  time  ?  What,  am  I  to  be 
doubting  the  munificence  of  Providence  ?  But  if  ever 
there  was  a  place  on  earth  that  wanted  a  treasure  to  enliven 
it,  Castle  Famine  is  that  spot." 

"Why  this  hilarity?"  Beggles  questioned  piteously; 
"and  why  has  the  treasure  been  revealed  before  the 
appointed  day  ?  I  understood  that  by  the  terms  of  the 
will—" 

"Oh,  damn  the  will!"  Flynn  cried,  still  shaking  with 
laughter.  "Hark  ye,  Beggles,  if  you  ask  no  questions, 
I'll  tell  you  no  lies.  Sure  this  is  no  time  for  argufying. 
Dance,  man,  dance!"  As  he  spoke  he  clutched  his 
worthy  paymaster  by  the  hands  and  began  spinning  him 
wildly  round  and  round  the  room. 

Beggles,  gasping  for  breath,  implored  him  to  stop:  "Ex- 
cuse me,  I  was  never  a  dancing  man;  I  get  dizzy — indeed 
I  do." 

But  Flynn  in  his  boundless  celerity  persisted  in  leaping 
287 


THE   O'FLYNN 

and  capering.  "Skip,  man!  spin,  man!  jig,  man!  for 
'tis  the  light  heart  you  ought  to  have  this  day.  Twenty 
per  cent,  is  it?  Sure,  you  shall  take  thirty  now  and 
welcome,  you  blundering  old  money-monger." 

But  he  interrupted  his  mad  dance  suddenly  as  Benedetta 
came  into  the  hall  from  the  dancing  -  room,  and  looked 
in  astonishment  at  the  capering  pair. 

"What  is  this,  O'Flynn  ?"  she  asked.  "The  vice-reine 
sends  me  to  bid  you  finish  her  lesson,  and  I  find  you  danc- 
ing with  this  gentleman." 

Flynn  instantly  released  Beggles,  who  reeled  heavily 
into  the  nearest  seat. 

"Your  ladyship  must  excuse  me,"  Flynn  said,  "and  her 
ladyship  must  excuse  me,  but  this  is  a  little  dance  of  joy 
on  my  own  account."  He  turned  to  Beggles,  "Be  off"  with 
you,"  he  commanded;  "I'll  square  accounts  by-and-by. 
Sure,  it's  the  merry  man  I  am  this  day."  And  Beggles 
with  spinning  head  staggered  out  of  the  chamber. 

Then  Flynn  turned  to  Benedetta,  who  said  to  him  gravely, 
"Do  you  know,  O'Flynn,  that  you  haven't  spoken  to  me 
since  we  parted  at  Knockmore  ?" 

O'Flynn  looked  at  her  wistfully.  "I  have  nothing  to 
say,"  he  replied. 

"But  I  have  something  to  say,"  Benedetta  went  on;  "I 
have  seen  Fancy  Free;  I  have  spoken  with  Fancy  Free." 

"The  devil  you  have,"  Flynn  cried;  "saving  your 
presence." 

Benedetta  looked  at  him  half  sorrowfully,  half  angrily: 
"Well,  O'Flynn,  what  shall  we  say  to  each  other?"  she 
asked.  "For  you  told  me  a  lie  about  Fancy  Free,  and 
I  made  a  fool  of  myself,  and  neither  of  us  show  very 
glorious." 

288 


A   LETTER   FROM   O'ROURKE 

Flynn  sighed,  "  'Tis  Don  Quixote  I  seem  to  be,  most  of 
the  time,  trying  to  do  good  and  putting  my  foot  in  it." 

Benedetta  stretched  out  her  hand  to  him  and  he  took 
it  for  a  moment.  "Well,  I  thank  you  for  what  you  did," 
she  said,  "because  you  did  it  to  spare  me  pain — and  so  let 
me  remind  you  that  you  are  keeping  her  grace  waiting." 
She  turned  to  go,  but  Flynn  stopped  her. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  he  said;  "I  have  something  to  say 
to  you  after  all.  Since  first  I  got  the  glad  sight  of  you  I 
have  wooed  you,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  and  'No' 
has  always  been  your  answer.  Now,  I've  laid  the  strong 
vow  on  myself  that  I  won't  ask  you  again,  pretty  lady, 
never  again;  it's  yourself  will  have  to  do  the  asking  next 
time,  if  so  be  as  you  come  to  want  me." 

"How,  if  you  have  to  wait  till  Doomsday?"  Benedetta 
asked. 

"I'll  wait,"  Flynn  answered,  solemnly. 

Benedetta  looked  curiously  at  him.  "How  solemn  you 
are,"  she  said. 

Flynn  nodded:  "Maybe  I  feel  solemn  for  once  in  a  way. 
We  are  a  fanciful  people;  we  make  friends  with  the 
fairies;  some  of  us  have  the  second  sight.  I  feel  to-night 
that  something  might  happen  to  change  our  lives.  Oh! 
it's  only  dreaming  I  am;  but,  whatever  does  happen  to  us 
in  the  unknown,  I  want  you  to  believe  that  even  this  soldier 
of  fortune  does  not  always  fight  for  his  own  hand." 

Benedetta  looked  at  him  very  kindly.  "I  know,"  she 
said,  "you  will  always  prove  a  gallant  gentleman.  Ah! 
here  comes  the  king." 


XXIX 

AN    IRISH    REEL 

KING  JAMES  entered  the  Presence  Chamber  between 
Tyrconnel  and  his  duchess  and  followed  by  a  brill- 
iant company  of  ladies  and  courtiers.  James  carried  him- 
self with  a  gravity  that  approached  austerity:  he  was  clad 
entirely  in  black,  relieved  only  by  his  blue  ribbon  and  the 
lustre  of  his  star.  His  stern  features  lighted  up  as  he  be- 
held O'Flynn:  he  turned  to  Lady  Tyrconnel  and  said: 

"I  declare,  your  Grace,  your  Irishman  is  a  most  divert- 
ing table-mate."  Then  addressing  O'Flynn,  he  asked, 
"  Do  you  follow  the  wars  with  as  merry  a  heart  ?" 

"Yes,  sire,"  Flynn  said  with  a  low  bow,  "and  small 
credit  to  me.  If  a  soldier  cannot  wear  a  cheerful  face  that 
follows  the  finest  trade  in  the  world,  how  shall  the  poor 
civilian  seem  gay  that  trusts  the  soldier's  breastplate  to 
defend  him  ?" 

James's  native  sternness  of  demeanor  seemed  to  relax  as 
he  spoke  with  O'Flynn.  "Further  to  urge  your  argu- 
ment," he  said,  with  a  faint  smile,  "the  people  should  be 
the  happiest  that  were  ruled  by  a  mirthful  sovereign." 

"Why,  sire,"  Flynn  declared,  "when  the  king  laughs 
his  subjects  are  like  to  laugh  with  him;  but  if  he  wear  a 
frowning  face  the  people  are  like  to  laugh  at  him." 

"Indeed,  sir,  and  why  so?"  the  king  asked. 
290 


AN    IRISH   REEL 

"Because,"  Flynn  said,  frankly,  "to  my  thinking,  the 
man  has  no  right  to  be  a  king  who  is  not  grateful  to  God 
that  has  given  him  the  chance." 

King  James  sighed.  "What  God  has  given,  man  some- 
times takes  away;  but  I  think  I  should  be  as  merry  as  ever 
my  brother  was  if  I  had  you  by  my  side."  He  paused  for 
a  moment,  and  then  said,  more  gayly,  "If  we  keep  Christ- 
mas in  Whitehall,  none  but  you  shall  be  our  Lord  of  Mis- 
rule." 

Flynn  bowed  very  low.  "  'Tis  the  proud  man  I  am  to 
hear  your  Majesty  say  so.  But  your  diversions  are  not 
ended  yet,  if  I  have  your  Majesty's  leave  to  direct  them." 

James  extended  a  complacent  hand.  "Do  as  you  wish, 
O'Flynn;  you  are  a  king's  king  to-night."  He  turned  to 
Tyrconnel,  "Does  he  not  merit  our  complaisance,  my 
lord  ?" 

"My  liege,"  the  duke  declared,  with  a  broad  grin,  "I 
call  him  the  damnedest  merriest  rascal  I  ever  met." 

"That's  great  praise  from  your  lordship,"  Flynn  pro- 
tested. He  turned  and  addressed  the  courtiers,  "Now,  gen- 
tlemen, hasten  to  yonder  room  and  claim  your  partners, 
and  while  you  are  busy  on  that  sweet  business  I  will 
divert  his  Majesty  with  a  merry  tale  that  came  near  to 
cracking  my  ribs  when  I  heard  it." 

While  the  gentlemen,  in  obedience  to  the  behest  of 
O'Flynn,  whom  they  accepted  for  the  evening  as  their 
master  of  ceremonies,  were  busy  in  selecting  their  partners 
from  among  the  bevy  of  beautiful  women  that  thronged 
the  hall  O'Flynn  made  bold  to  draw  the  king  aside  out 
of  ear-shot  of  any  present  and  to  address  him  with  a  great 
air  of  merriment,  laughing  frequently  as  he  spoke. 

"My  liege,"  he  began,  "I  have  played  the  fool  all  day, 
291 


THE   O'FLYNN 

and  must  wear  my  cap  and  bells  a  little  longer;  but  I  have 
something  grave  to  say  to  you,  sire,  and  I  pray  you  to  take 
it  as  if  it  were  the  best  jest  in  the  world,  for  there  are  eyes 
upon  us  and  I  would  have  those  eyes  believe  us  merry. 
Laugh,  sire,  laugh." 

James  looked  curiously  at  O'Flynn.  Though  he  knew 
but  little  of  the  eccentric  adventurer,  that  little  had  in- 
duced him  to  believe  in  his  courage,  his  honor,  and  his 
fidelity,  he  obeyed  him  now  in  laughing  as  heartily  as  if, 
indeed,  he  had  been  listening  to  the  merriest  tale.  "Go 
on,"  he  said. 

Flynn  continued,  "Sire,  when  I  brought  you  the  news 
of  the  fall  of  Knockmore  I  brought  you  other  news  in  the 
same  bag." 

With  a  smile  James  spoke,  "You  told  me  that  my  Lord 
Sedgemouth  was  a  villain,  and  yet,  in  the  same  breath,  you 
begged  me  to  show  him  favor." 

O'Flynn  nodded:  "Only  that  we  might  thereby  secure 
his  accomplices.  The  plot  to  which  Lord  Sedgemouth  is 
privy  depends  upon  his  holding  this  post  near  your  person. 
It  has  been  given  out  that  your  Majesty  intends  to  join  the 
army  to-morrow,  therefore  the  attempt  will  be  made  to- 
night." He  strove  to  banish  the  growing  anxiety  on  the 
king's  face,  as  he  communicated  his  serious  tidings. 
"Laugh,  my  liege,"  he  urged,  "laugh!" 

James  laughed  heartily.  "It  is  a  droll  story,"  he  said, 
aloud,  though  there  was  no  one  near  enough  to  hear  his 
words. 

Flynn  continued  still  with  a  face  beaming  with  mirth: 
"There  is  a  fellow  serving  here  whose  face  I  have  seen  be- 
fore once  as  a  drawer  in  an  inn  frequented  by  my  Lord 
Sedgemouth,  whose  voice  I  heard  once  before,  when  he 
292 


AN    IRISH   REEL 

played  highwayman  on  the  Cork  road  to  rob  Lady  Bene- 
detta  of  the  jewel  your  Majesty's  consort  sent  to  you. 
Laugh,  sire,  laugh!" 

James,  still  laughing,  asked,  "What  do  you  wish  me  to 
do?" 

"Put  yourself  in  my  hands,  sire,"  Flynn  requested. 
"My  men  are  concealed  in  the  castle,  every  man  as  sober 
as  a  judge  and  sworn  to  sobriety  till  the  night's  work  be 
done.  If  your  Majesty  will  but  leave  the  stage  to  me  I 
will  promise  you  as  pretty  a  comedy  as  ever  dished  a  Whig. 
Laugh,  sire!" 

The  laughing  king  laid  his  hand  for  a  moment  on 
O'Flynn's  shoulder.  "We  can  refuse  you  nothing, 
O'Flynn,"  he  said.  "Do  what  you  please,  how  you 
please." 

O'Flynn  bowed.  "Now,  is  not  that  a  good  story,  your 
Majesty  ?"  he  asked  in  a  loud  voice,  and  James,  still 
smiling,  answered: 

"  I  protest  I  never  heard  a  better.  You  should 
have  served  my  brother :  he  was  a  merrier  fellow 
than  I." 

"Your  Majesty  pleases  me  very  well,"  Flynn  answered, 
and  James,  laughing  at  his  frankness  as  much  as  he  had 
feigned  to  laugh  at  his  narrative,  made  a  gesture  which 
brought  the  courtiers  about  him  again. 

"I  hear,"  the  king  said,  addressing  O'Flynn,  "that  you 
have  promised  us  some  Irish  dances  for  to-night;  can 
you  dance  a  jig,  O'Flynn  ?" 

Flynn  grinned.     "Sure,  I  was  born  dancing  a  jig,  your 
Majesty,"  he  said.     Then,  seeing  that  the  company  were 
ready,  he  continued:    "Now,  my  liege,  for  a  right  Irish 
dance  in  your  honor.     Strike  up,  pipers." 
293 


THE   O'FLYNN 

The  company  of  pipers  that  Flynn  had  introduced  into 
the  castle  now  struck  up  the  notes  of  an  Irish  reel;  O'Flynn 
found  himself  facing  Benedetta  in  the  merry  movements 
of  the  dance  whose  brightness  and  cheerfulness  provoked 
the  pensive  king  to  heartily  applaud. 


XXX 

O'FLYNN  THE  FIRST 

SOME  hours  later  the  great  Presence  Chamber  was 
wrapped  in  obscurity:  the  last  dance  had  been 
danced;  the  dancers  had  dispersed;  the  lights  had  been 
put  out;  the  servants  had  disappeared.  The  room  was 
only  lit  by  the  faint  glow  on  the  hearth  and  the  light  of  a 
single  candle  that  stood  on  a  table  near  the  fireplace. 
Another  table  with  a  chair  by  it  awaited  the  coming  of  the 
king. 

By  the  fireplace  my  Lord  Sedgemouth  stood  and  waited. 
Presently  he  heard  a  faint  scratching  sound  behind  the 
panel,  and,  going  to  that  part  of  the  room  from  which  the 
sound  proceeded,  he  touched  the  woodwork;  the  panel 
slipped  back  and  Hendrigg  came  out  of  a  secret  passage 
and  faced  him. 

"Is  all  well  ?"  Hendrigg  asked. 

"I  expect  the  king  instantly,"  Sedgemouth  replied.  "I 
am  to  read  to  him  here,  damn  him,  till  he  feels  sleepy." 

Hendrigg  smiled  sternly.  "He  may  sleep  sound  enough 
to-night.  But  you  should  not  curse  him  for  his  whim; 
it  is  easier  to  deal  with  him  here  than  in  his  bed- 
chamber." 

"Your  men  are  ready?"  Sedgemouth  questioned. 

Hendrigg  nodded,  "They  wait  in  the  passage." 
20  295 


THE   O'FLYNN 

He  made  as  if  to  go,  but  Sedgemouth  restrained  him  for 
a  moment.  "You  will  not  kill  save  at  need  ?"  he  asked. 

"Not  here,  at  least,"  Hendrigg  cried.  "I  want  no  king 
nor  king's  corpse  to  be  within  the  castle  walls  to-morrow. 
When  he  has  signed  we  will  pinion  him  and  smuggle  him 
out  by  the  secret  stair  —  hush!  I  hear  footsteps.  What 
signal  ?" 

Sedgemouth  took  up  the  book  from  the  table.  "I  will 
drop  this  book  upon  the  ground." 

Hendrigg  nodded  again.  "Good,"  he  said,  and  dis- 
appeared through  the  secret  passage,  closing  the  panel  be- 
hind him. 

Sedgemouth  returned  to  the  fireplace,  and  in  another 
instant  was  bowing  profoundly  as  the  black-attired  figure 
of  the  king  came  through  the  door  of  the  royal  apartments 
and  advanced  slowly  through  the  darkness  toward  the 
chair.  In  this  he  seated  himself  with  a  sigh,  his  chin 
drooped  upon  his  breast,  the  heavy  locks  of  his  periwig  hid 
his  face;  he  seemed  to  be  in  a  mood  of  profound  dejection. 

"Shall  I  read  to  your  Majesty?"  Sedgemouth  asked, 
softly. 

The  melancholy  figure  huddled  in  the  chair  nodded  his 
head  in  sign  of  agreement. 

"Shall  I  begin  where  your  Majesty  has  left  a  mark?" 
Sedgemouth  continued. 

The  king  nodded  again. 

Sedgemouth  opened  the  book  and  glanced  at  the  page: 
"  'How  King  James  I.  of  Scotland  came  to  his. death — ' 
he    paused.     "Why,   my   liege,"   he   protested,  "here   is 
melancholy  matter  to  end  so  merry  an  evening.     Shall  I, 
indeed,  continue  ?" 

As  the  king  again  inclined  his  head  in  sign  of  agreement 
296 


O'FLYNN   THE   FIRST 

my  Lord  Sedgemouth  began  to  read  in  a  clear  steady  voice: 
"'Now,  while  King  James  sat  in  the  hall,  with  his  queen 
and  her  ladies,  there  came  one  pale  with  fear  that  told 
how  the  king's  enemies  had  made  their  way  by  stealth 
into  the  castle — '"  He  paused  for  a  moment  and  glanced 
at  the  king,  who  remained  motionless.  My  Lord  Sedge- 
mouth  resumed  his  reading:  "'  Now,  from  the  hall  wherein 
the  king  sat  there  was  no  issue  save  by  the  great  door 
whither  the  king's  enemies  now  were  hurrying.  Then  the 
queen  and  her  women  made  to  shut  the  great  door,  but 
some  traitor  had  taken  the  bolt  from  the  sockets  so  that 
the  door  could  by  no  means  be  made  fast.  Then  one  of 
the  queen's  ladies,  Catherine  by  name,  thrust  her  white 
arm  through  the  iron  sockets  and  said  that  she  would  keep 
the  door  while  the  king  hid  himself.'" 

The  head  of  the  king  seemed  to  droop  lower  and  lower 
upon  his  breast;  his  relaxed  arms  hung  listlessly  by  his 
sides;  a  faint  sound  of  steady  breathing  suggested  that  the 
slumber  which  the  king  sought  had  been  granted  to  him. 

Lord  Sedgemouth,  still  holding  the  book  in  his  hand 
and  reading  from  it  as  he  moved,  crossed  the  floor  toward 
the  king:  "  'Now  the  king  seeing  himself  thus  trapped, 
made  shift  to  lift  a  stone  and  dropped  himself  into  the 
cellar  that  lay  beneath  the  hall — '"  Sedgemouth  lowered 
his  voice  as  he  read  the  last  words,  for  he  was  now  satisfied 
that  the  king  was,  indeed,  asleep.  Closing  the  book  and 
placing  it  on  the  table,  he  advanced  to  the  secret  panel  and 
pushed  it  back;  leaning  into  the  deeper  darkness  of  the 
passage  thus  revealed,  he  called  softly,  and  Hendrigg  in- 
stantly answered  his  summons. 

"The  king  is  asleep,"  he  said;   "there  was  no  need  to 
give  the  signal.     Bring  in  your  men." 
297 


THE   O'FLYNN 

As  he  spoke,  Sedgemouth  returned  to  the  centre  of  the 
great  room:  Hendrigg  came  after  him,  followed  from 
the  secret  passage  by  five  men  that  had  drawn  swords  in 
their  hands;  Hendrigg,  too,  carried  a  drawn  sword.  The 
conspirators  ranged  themselves  in  a  circle  around  the 
sleeping  king  with  their  weapons  directed  against  him. 

Sedgemouth  struck  with  his  hand  the  king's  table  and 
the  sleeping  figure  awoke  with  a  start. 

The  point  of  Hendrigg's  sword  touched  the  king's 
breast  just  above  the  star.  "  If  you  speak  one  word,  you 
die,  James  Stuart,"  he  said  savagely,  and  the  king  in 
apparent  agony  of  fear  did  as  he  was  told. 

My  Lord  Sedgemouth,  with  a  mocking  laugh,  addressed 
the  king:  "I  trust  your  liege  will  forgive  me  for  intro- 
ducing these  gentlemen  to  your  presence.  But  indeed 
they  have  very  pressing  business  with  your  Majesty,  for 
they  wish  you  to  sign  this  paper."  As  he  spoke  he  took 
a  paper  from  Hendrigg's  hand  and  opened  it.  "This  is 
an  act  of  abdication,  James  Stuart,  which  you  must  either 
now  sign  and  live,  or  not  sign  and  die.  Will  you  sign, 
great  King  of  England,  France  and  Ireland,  will  you  sign, 
Defender  of  the  Faith  ?"  The  king  seemed  to  shake  his 
head  in  feeble  protest  as  Sedgemouth  continued:  "Shall 
I  read  it  to  your  Majesty  ?  My  voice  will  not  send  you 
to  sleep  now."  With  a  cruel  clearness  he  read:  '"I,  James 
Stuart,  hitherto  known  of  men  as  James  the  Second  of 
England,  and  Seventh  of  Scotland,  being  now  very  sure 
that  it  is  the  will  of  Heaven  and  of  my  people  that  I  should 
no  longer  reign  over  my  kingdom,  do  hereby  solemnly 
surrender  my  crown  to  my  dear  son-in-law  William. 
Given  this  day  of  June,  1690,  at  our  Castle  of  Dublin.'" 
He  paused  and  looked  down  scornfully  at  the  huddled 
298 


O'FLYNN   THE   FIRST 

figure  in  black.  "Do  you  now  like  it,  sire?  Is  it  not 
well  penned  ?  The  sight  of  this  to-morrow  on  every  wall 
in  Dublin  will  gladden  the  many  that  hate  you,  and 
shake  the  few  that  love  you.  Sign,  James  Stuart, 
sign!" 

Hendrigg,  with  his  sword  still  directed  toward  James's 
heart,  cried  fiercely,  "Sign — or  die!" 

Sedgemouth  dipped  a  pen  into  the  ink  and  held  it  for- 
ward; the  king  extended  a  shaking  hand  and  Sedgemouth 
pushed  the  pen  into  the  trembling  fingers.  With  little 
groans  of  fear  the  victim  hurriedly  scrawled  a  name  at  the 
foot  of  the  paper,  and  then  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  as 
Hendrigg  caught  the  paper  up  triumphantly. 

"Good!"  he  cried,  and  moved  toward  the  fireplace  to 
read  the  signature  by  the  light  of  the  fire.  Instantly  his 
mood  of  triumph  changed.  "Damnation!"  he  screamed. 

Sedgemouth  was  by  his  side  in  a  moment.  "What  is 
it  ?"  he  asked.  He  caught  the  paper  from  Hendrigg's 
fingers  and  read  in  his  turn — "O'Flynn  the  First!" 

Even  as  he  read,  the  crouching  figure  in  the  chair 
suddenly  stiffened  and  straightened,  and  stood  up  and 
the  doors  leading  to  the  Presence  Chamber  were  flung 
open,  men  carrying  torches  flooded  the  room  with  unex- 
pected light,  and  the  soldiers  of  O'Flynn's  Own  crowding 
into  the  room  from  every  entrance,  overpowered  the  con- 
spirators. The  seeming  king  plucked  off  his  hat  and  peri- 
wig, revealing  the  laughing,  excited  face  of  the  O'Flynn. 
At  the  same  moment  King  James  himself  came  quietly 
through  the  line  of  soldiers  and  advanced  to  where  my 
Lord  Sedgemouth  was  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
very  pale  and  motionless. 

Hendrigg,  standing  by  him,  folded  his  arms  resignedly, 
299 


THE   O'FLYNN 

his  face  as  expressionless  as  ever,  "Check-mate,"  he 
murmured  and  said  no  more. 

James  advanced  to  Sedgemouth.  "Sedgemouth,"  he 
said;  "in  my  time  I  have  become  acquainted  with  many 
traitors,  but  never  with  such  a  traitor  as  yourself." 

Sedgemouth's  face  worked  convulsively;  then  he  spoke 
with  an  air  of  disdain,  weaving  the  final  web  for  his  enemy: 
"Your  Majesty  overpraises  me,"  he  declared.  "There  is 
a  better  traitor  here."  He  turned  and  pointed  at  the 
O'Flynn.  "The  Irishman,  who  has  betrayed  us  and 
who  will  betray  you.  He  was  our  paid  creature;  it  was 
by  us  that  he  took  Knockmore.  His  boasted  story  is  a 
cloak  for  the  truth.  Knockmore  surrendered  to  a  paper 
we  gave  him,  an  order  from  King  William,  commanding 
the  general  to  surrender." 

James  said  nothing,  but  only  watched  Sedgemouth  with 
a  mixture  of  scorn  and  dislike  on  his  stern  face. 

But  O'Flynn,  still  smiling,  answered  Sedgemouth,  and 
he  answered  him  in  the  voice  of  Van  Dronk:  "Vaarlik, 
mein  vriend.  I  am  a  man  of  few  words,  but  we  have  met 
before  under  like  conditions;  only  then  I  was  General 
Van  Dronk,  and  you  gave  me  this  paper." 

As  he  spoke  he  took  a  paper  from  his  pocket  and  handed 
it  to  Sedgemouth,  who  clutched  at  it,  opened  it,  and  saw 
that  it  was  the  paper  which  he  had  given  to  Van  Dronk 
as  he  believed,  and  had  signed,  as  he  believed,  in  obedience 
to  Van  Dronk's  whim.  He  looked  about  him  furiously. 
Hendrigg  was  standing  near  in  the  guard  of  two  soldiers 
who  had  disarmed  their  captive,  and  one  of  the  soldiers 
was  holding  Hendrigg's  sword  carelessly  in  his  hand. 
Sedgemouth  sprang  toward  him  and  wrenched  the  weapon 
from  his  fingers.  He  turned  in  fury  toward  the  O'Flynn. 
300 


O'FLYNN   THE   FIRST 

"Damn  you!"  he  screamed;  "I'll  settle  you."  He  made 
to  strike  at  his  enemy,  but  before  he  could  reach  Flynn, 
Conamur,  who  was  standing  near  his  chief,  levelled  a  pistol 
he  was  carrying  and  fired.  My  Lord  Sedgemouth  flung 
up  his  arms,  dropped  the  sword,  gave  a  great  groan  and 
fell  in  a  heap  on  the  floor. 

"So  end  all  traitors,"  James  said,  sternly. 

Now,  by  this  time,  the  news  that  something  untoward 
was  going  on  had  began  to  spread  through  the  castle;  there 
was  a  hubbub  of  women's  voices,  and,  as  Lord  Sedgemouth 
fell,  the  Duchess  of  Tyrconnel,  with  dishevelled  hair  and 
disordered  attire,  came  rushing  into  the  room. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  screamed.  "Is  the  king 
safe  ?"  Then,  seeing  the  king  where  he  stood,  she  gave 
a  great  cry  of  joy. 

James  spoke  to  her  gravely:  "A  wicked  plot  has  been 
foiled,  thanks  to  O'Flynn.  Lord  Sedgemouth  is  dead." 

By  this  time  many  other  courtiers  and  ladies,  roused  by 
rumors  and  startled  by  the  pistol-shot,  were  thronging  into 
the  room.  The  words,  "Lord  Sedgemouth  is  dead,"  were 
repeated  from  lip  to  Hp.  Through  the  bewildered  crowd 
Lady  Benedetta  pushed  her  way,  half-dressed,  with  a  large 
cloak  about  her;  she  looked  around  her  with  haggard  eyes. 

"Lord  Sedgemouth!"  she  cried;  "where  is  Lord  Sedge- 
mouth  ?"  She  caught  sight  of  the  body  and  screamed 
aloud  as  she  flung  herself  by  the  side  of  the  dead  man. 
"Oh!  he  is  dead!  He  is  dead!  How  did  he  die  ?" 

The  king  made  as  if  to  speak,  but  Flynn  stayed  him 
with  an  appealing  gesture,  as  he  answered,  gravely,  "He 
died — for  his  king." 


XXXI 

CASTLE    FAMINE    AGAIN 

SOME  weeks  later  the  O'Flynn  was  sitting  again  in 
the  front  of  his  hearth  at  Castle  Famine.  This  time 
a  bright  fire  blazed  in  the  great  chimney,  and  this  time 
larder  and  cellar  were  alike  provisioned,  but  otherwise 
there  was  no  change  in  the  place,  and  the  place's  master, 
soberly  clad  in  a  travelling-suit,  sat  smoking  and  seemingly 
drowned  in  thought. 

Many  things  had  happened  since  that  evening  of  early 
summer  when  he  had  left  that  hall  with  the  merry  players 
to  seek  his  fortune  in  Dublin.  The  cause  of  the  king  was 
lost  and  James  back  in  France.  The  Lady  Benedetta, 
after  the  death  of  Lord  Sedgemouth,  had  lain  for  a  while 
dangerously  ill  and  had  been  taken  to  France  by  her  father 
as  soon  as  she  showed  signs  of  recovery,  and  the  secret  of 
Lord  Sedegmouth's  treason  had  been  kept  sedulously  from 
her. 

So  much  Flynn  knew,  and  knew  no  more  of  the  lady  of 
his  dreams.  For  himself,  he  had  seen  to  the  safety  of  his 
treasure,  which  proved  to  be  large  enough  to  insure  him 
a  comfortable  fortune,  and  he  was  now  preparing  to  take 
farewell  of  his  ancestral  ruin  and  to  follow  the  war  again. 
The  little  King  of  Munster  came  into  the  room  decently 
clad  now,  and  looking  even  more  whimsical  than  before 
302 


CASTLE   FAMINE   AGAIN 

in  his  new  habiliments.     He  looked  wistfully  at  his  master 
and  at  last  broke  the  silence. 

"Sure,  O'Flynn  darling,  what's  the  good  of  sitting 
daundering  there,  with  never  a  word  to  say  but  only  smoke, 
and  your  face  that  sad  that  it  sends  me  heart  to  me  heels 
to  look  at  you  ?" 

Flynn  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  into  the  air,  and  turned  to 
him.  "You  are  right,  your  majesty — you  must  allow  me 
to  call  you  so,  my  boy,  for  since  King  James  has  blown 
back  to  France,  you're  the  only  king  with  whom  I'm  on 
speaking  terms — you're  right,  your  majesty,  there  isn't 
a  ha'pworth  of  good  in  it  from  A  to  Z,  but  it's  the  things 
that  aren't  any  good  to  do  that  are  often  the  sweetest  in  the 
doing." 

"Arrah,  then,"  O'Rourke  asked;  "where's  the  sweet- 
ness of  sitting  there  all  day  drinking  smoke  like  a  mummy  ?" 

Flynn  answered:  "Because  while  I  sit  and  drink  smoke 
I  see  sights,  your  majesty — sights  that  are  good  for  sore 
eyes.  I  see  a  girl  as  fair  as  Queen  Mab  stand  in  the  gap  of 
a  ruined  wall  and  I  see  an  ould  soldier  that  ought  to  know 
better  trying  to  whisper  the  heart  out  of  her  young  body. 
You'll  be  laughing  at  me,  your  majesty,  for  the  way  I 
take  on." 

O'Rourke  looked  at  his  master  reproachfully.  "Oh! 
master,  master,  do  you  think  I  was  born  the  ould  fellow  I 
stand  here  ?  Do  you  think  I  never  had  a  girl's  arm 
about  my  neck  in  all  my  days  ?" 

"I  beg  your  majesty's  pardon,"  Flynn  said  contritely; 
"I'm  sure  you  had  a  way  with  you  in  the  days  of  your 
juvenility.  But  the  girl  I'm  thinking  of  never  put  her 
arm  about  my  neck,  though  I  swore  like  a  fool  that  I'd 
make  her  love  me." 

3°3 


THE   O'FLYNN 

O'Rourke  made  an  angry  gesture;  "Sure  she  wasn't 
worth  the  wooing,  if  she  didn't  leap  into  your  arms  like  a 
live  fish." 

Flynn  held  up  a  warning  finger.  "  Hush !  you  unnatural 
ould  heathen.  What  was  I — what  am  I^what  shall  I  ever 
be  to  deserve  such  a  darling  ?" 

O'Rourke  flicked  his  hand  across  his  face.  "It  brings 
the  wet  to  my  eyes,"  he  said,  "to  hear  you  so  down- 
hearted. What  are  you,  is  it  ?  What  harm  but  you  are  the 
O'Flynn,  no  less,  and  the  equal  of  any  sultan,  or  Caesar, 
or  emperor  of  the  far  countries,  and  you  were  that  when 
you  hadn't  a  shilling,  and  now  aren't  you  as  rich  as 
Crazies  ?" 

Flynn  laughed  a  little  bitterly.  "The  treasure — the 
treasure — was  I  forgetting  the  treasure  ?  Lord,  what  a 
cheerful  man  Master  Beggles  was  when  we  packed  his 
bags  with  gold  pieces.  King  James  was  a  ruined  exile 
and  Boyne  River  running  red  with  the  blood  of  brave 
men,  but  Master  Beggles  was  happy  enough." 

"Why  shouldn't  he  be  happy?"  O'Rourke  questioned. 
"Sure,  it's  well  to  be  him  or  a  cousin  of  his  with  all  the 
money  he  took  off  you." 

"He  gave  me  good  value  for  it,"  Flynn  said  thought- 
fully; "and  it's  little  he'd  have  got  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
that  blessed  pig  of  yours.  Now  it's  all  safe,  the  treasure 
is,  all  shipped  to  France,  and  it's  a  wealthy  gentleman  your 
humble  servant  may  call  himself  for  the  first  time  in  all 
his  born  days.  But  I'd  give  all  the  treasure — aye,  and 
think  it  little,  for — " 

"For  what  then  would  you  be  acting  so  foolish?" 
O'Rourke  asked,  with  a  disapproving  frown. 

Flynn  sighed,  "For  the  jewel  that  lies  at  the  root  of  the 
304 


CASTLE   FAMINE   AGAIN 

rainbow,  for  the  rose  that  grows  east  of  the  Sun,  west  of 
the  Moon,  for  the  lady  that  lives  in  the  Land  of  Youth, 
for  the  kisses  of  the  Fairy  Queen  that  make  a  man  think 
himself  immortal — until  he  dies." 

O'Rourke  lifted  up  his  hands  appealingly  to  heaven. 
"Heaven  help  you,  master,  if  you  go  on  like  that;  for  the 
kisses  of  the  fairies  raise  blisters  and  the  rainbow  gems 
are  no  better  than  pebbles.  Count  your  guineas  while 
you  can,  and  spend  them  while  you  may — and  there's 
the  only  wisdom." 

Flynn  shook  his  fist  at  him  playfully,  "Your  majesty 
will  never  make  a  poet." 

"God  forbid,"  O'Rourke  said  fervently. 

Flynn  laughed  again:  "Maybe  you  are  in  the  right  of 
it.  Well,  tell  Coin  and  Gosling  to  be  ready  to  start  at 
sunset.  The  ship  waits  in  the  bay,  and  with  this  wind 
we  should  see  France  to-morrow." 

"Why,  why  will  you  be  going  away,"  O'Rourke  asked, 
wringing  his  hands.  "Why  don't  you  stop  here  and 
build  up  the  old  place  in  the  way  of  its  ancient  grandness  ?. 
Didn't  you  tell  me  yourself  that  King  William — devil 
take  him — doesn't  bear  you  a  grudge  ?" 

Flynn  smiled.  It  had  been  made  plain  to  him  in  the 
dangerous  days  that  followed  on  the  Boyne  fight  that  the 
new  king  would  be  willing  to  accept  the  O'Flynn's  ser- 
vices. 

"Dutch  Billy  would  let  me  stay  here  if  I  wanted  to 
stay,"  he  admitted.  "But  I  don't  want  to  stay;  I'm 
afraid  of  the  ghosts." 

O'Rourke  shook  his  head.  "Sure,  the  ghosts  have  all 
gone  with  the  finding  of  the  treasure." 

"Not  my  ghosts,"  Flynn  said,  sadly.  "No  treasure  will 
305 


THE   O'FLYNN 

exorcise  them;    the  ghost  of  a  girl  in  a  green  gown,  the 
ghost  of  a  man  in  a  shabby  white  uniform — " 

"Don't  be  taking  so,"  O'Rourke  cried,  impatiently. 
"  Restore  the  old  place,  that  will  lay  the  ghosts  for  certain, 
and  live  on  the  fat  of  the  land  like  the  gentleman  you 
are." 

"No,  no,"  Flynn  insisted;  "let  the  old  place  stand  as  it 
stands,  for  so  it  stood  when  first  she  saw  it.  Do  you  mind 
how  she  came  just  there,  through  the  gap  in  the  wall,  part- 
ing the  leaves  with  her  fingers,  debonair  as  a  flower  ..." 

It  has  always  been  the  tradition  in  the  annals  of  the 
O'Flynns  that  the  things  which  are  about  to  be  recorded 
happened  just  then,  at  that  very  precise  moment  of  time, 
in  order  to  prove  the  affection  and  the  esteem  in  which 
the  good  saints  of  paradise  held  their  soldier  of  fortune. 

The  more  cautious,  the  less  credulous,  may  prefer  to  be- 
lieve that  what  happened  a  little  later;  that  the  kind  of 
miracle  vouchsafed  to  the  O'Flynn  came  to  pass  a  little 
less  miraculously;  that  the  reward  of  his  hopes  and  the 
satisfaction  of  his  dreams  did  not  follow  immediately  upon 
the  evocation  of  an  excited  memory. 

All  that  is  as  it  may  be.  It  is  not  for  us,  however,  to 
quarrel  with  the  chronicles  and  the  credences  of  an  illus- 
trious house,  but  to  retell  the  tale  as  it  has  been  told 
through  the  generations  by  the  descendants  of  the  O'Flynn 
of  O'Flynn  and  of  Conachor  LII.,  King  of  Munster. 

According  to  the  story  then,  even  a^  he  spoke,  the  vision 
he  conjured  up  became  reality.  Benedetta  stood  where 
she  had  stood  before,  parting  the  leaves  now  and  smiling 
upon  the  lord  of  Castle  Famine. 

"Oh!  master,  master,"  O'Rourke  cried,  with  clasped 
hands;  "is  it  a  ghost  or  a  fairy  ?" 
306 


CASTLE   FAMINE   AGAIN 

O'Flynn,  without  speaking,  gave  a  gesture  of  dismissal, 
and  O'Rourke  silently  crept  from  the  room.  Then  Flynn 
turned  to  the  girl,  who  advanced  toward  him. 

"Benedetta!"  he  cried. 

And  she  called  back  to  him,  "O'Flynn!" 

"  I  thought  you  were  in  France,"  he  marvelled. 

"I  was  in  France,"  the  girl  answered,  "but  the  seas  are 
short  between  France  and  Ireland,  and  the  wind  was  kind 
to  my  impatience." 

"God  bless  the  wind  that  blew  you  here,"  Flynn  cried, 
passionately;  "but  what  have  you  to  do  in  Ireland  now  ?" 

"I  have  to  do  justice,"  the  girl  answered,  gravely. 

"Justice!"  Flynn  echoed. 

Benedetta  looked  grave  and  spoke  very  gravely:  "Flynn, 
I  have  learned  a  secret  thing,  and  you  must  answer  me 
honest  if  what  I  have  been  told  is  true  or  untrue." 

"What  have  you  been  told?"  Flynn  asked. 

"I  have  been  told,"  Benedetta  answered,  "that  the  man 
I  loved  was  a  traitor,  false  to  his  honor,  his  sovereign,  and 
his  God;  and  that  he  was  killed  while  attempting  to  betray 
King  James  to  his  enemies." 

"Who  told  you  this  tale  ?"  Flynn  questioned. 

"  Fancy  Free,"  Benedetta  answered. 

And  Flynn  repeated  the  name  in  astonishment,  "Fancy 
Free!" 

"Yes,"  Benedetta  went  on;  "Fancy  Free  is  married  to 
Conamur — to  Conamur  who  shot  my  Lord  Sedgemouth 
when  he  tried  to  kill  you  after  the  failure  of  his  plot  to 
snare  King  James.  A  good  husband  has  no  secrets  from 
his  wife,  and  what  Conamur  told  Fancy  Fancy  told  me 
that  I  might  not  waste  my  life  in  weeping  over  a  dishonored 
grave.  You  alone  can  confirm  her  story — is  the  tale  true  ?" 
307 


THE   O'FLYNN 

Flynn  shook  his  head,  "I  have  nothing  to  say." 

"You  are  an  honorable  gentleman,"  Benedetta  said, 
softly;  "you  will  not  take  advantage  of  the  dead.  But  I 
have  more  than  the  girl's  story  to  go  on,  for  Conamur  gave 
Fancy  a  paper  and  Fancy  gave  the  paper  to  me." 

"What  paper?"  Flynn  asked,  with  a  start. 

Benedetta  answered  him  slowly:  "A  paper  that  you  let 
fall  when  Lord  Sedgemouth  attacked  you,  and  that  Con- 
amur picked  up  and  concealed.  It  was  an  order  from 
William  of  Orange  commanding  General  Van  Dronk  to 
surrender  Knockmore  to  the  bearer.  That  order  was 
indorsed  with  the  signature  of  the  bearer  —  with  the 
signature  of  my  Lord  Sedgemouth.  What  have  you 
to  say  ?" 

Flynn  shook  his  head.  "Just  nothing,"  he  said,  quietly, 
and  there  was  a  moment's  pause  between  the  pair. 

Then  Benedetta  spoke  again:  "Then  I  must  say  some- 
thing. When  you  and  I  met  I  thought  I  was  in  love  with 
the  man  who  is  dead;  I  thought  that  a  fair  face  must  be 
the  sign  of  a  fair  soul.  You  saved  me  from  danger — I 
was  grateful — no  more.  You  wooed  me  and  I  smiled  at 
your  wooing,  for  my  faith  was  another's.  Little  by  little, 
as  I  came  to  know  your  worth,  that  faith  was  shaken, 
though  I  tried  to  think  my  idol  still  worthy  of  idolatry; 
tried  to  deny  you  the  place  you  were  taking  in  my  heart. 
My  love  for  that  other  died  before  his  death;  yet,  when 
he  gave  his  life,  as  I  believed,  for  his  king  I  thought  it 
my  duty  to  dedicate  myself  to  his  memory,  and,  if  I  could, 
to  forget  you.  When  I  knew  the  truth  my  spirit  turned  in- 
stantly to  you.  The  last  time  we  spoke  together  you  told 
me  that  you  would  Woo  me  no  longer — that  you  would 
wait  till  I  came  to  you — 

308 


CASTLE   FAMINE   AGAIN 

"Sure,  'twas  the  fool  talk  I  was  talking,"  Flynn  said, 
apologetically. 

Benedetta  advanced  toward  him  holding  out  her  hands: 
"Flynn,  I  have  come  to  you.  Flynn,  do  you  forgive  me  ? 
Flynn,  do  you  love  me  still  ?" 

Flynn  gave  a  great  cry  of  exultation :  "Glory  be  to  God 
that  has  given  me  ears  this  day  to  hear  you,  and  eyes  this 
day  to  see  you,  and  hands  this  day  to  hold  you  if  you  are 
willing  to  come  to  my  arms!" 

"Will  they  welcome  me  ?"  Benedetta  asked. 

Flynn  stretched  out  his  arms.  "Try!"  he  said,  and 
clasped  her  in  his  embrace. 

Benedetta  released  herself  a  little  and  looked  earnestly 
into  her  lover's  eyes.  "What  were  you  going  to  do  ?"  she 
asked. 

"Follow  the  wars,"  Flynn  answered,  simply. 

"  But  now  ?"  Benedetta  questioned. 

Flynn  looked  at  her  lovingly.  "Sure,  it's  not  for  me  to 
say,"  he  declared,  "for  I've  entered  the  service  of  a  lovely 
lady,  and  'tis  she,  and  she  alone,  who  gives  me  my  march- 
ing orders." 

"Let  us  live  in  France,  Flynn,"  Benedetta  whispered, 
"near  to  our  lonely  king." 

Flynn  cried,  cheerfully,  "We  will  live  in  France  near  to 
our  king." 

Benedetta  drew  a  little  closer  to  him.  "Dear  lover, 
God  is  good  to  me.  Do  you  recall  how  I  stood 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  you  sang  me  down 
them  ?" 

O'Flynn  caught  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  kneeling  as  he 
did  so;  then  he  began  to  repeat  his  rhyme  of  the  "Isle  of 
Cyprus  " : 

309 


THE   O'FLYNN 

"Sure  the  king  has  his  ribbons,  the  king  has  his  stars, 
To  give  to  the  faithful  that  serve  in  his  wars; 
But  I'd  change  all  the  gifts  that  the  king  can  command, 
For  one  smile  of  your  eyes,  for  one  touch  of  your  hand." 


THE    END 


A     000033168     6 


